Marion Lennox - Banksia Bay

One who needs to stay right away from the law.

From Raff.

Don’t think of Raff. Think of the wedding.

Some hope. She slept, thinking of Raff.

She woke feeling light and happy. For the past few weeks she’d woken with the mammoth feeling that her wedding was bursting in on her from all sides. Her mother was determined to make it perfect.

It was starting to overwhelm her.

But not this morning. She loved that Kleppy woke at dawn and stuck his nose in her face and she woke to dog breath and a tail wagging.

It was lucky Philip wasn’t here. He’d have forty fits.

He wouldn’t mind being here. Or rather … he’d be happy if she was there. As far as Philip was concerned, she was wasting money having her own little house when he already had a wonderful house overlooking the sea.

Her parents had said that, too. When she’d moved back to Banksia Bay after university they’d welcomed her home and even had her bedroom repainted. Pink.

She had a choice. Philip’s house or her old bedroom.

But her grandparents had left her a lovely legacy and this little house was her statement of independence. As she let Kleppy outside to inspect her tiny garden she thought how much she was going to miss it.

Philip’s house was fabulous. She’d been blown away that he could afford to build it, and it had everything a woman could possibly want.

So get over it.

She left Kleppy to his own devices and went and checked on her wedding dress—just to reassure herself she really was getting married.

She should be excited.

She was excited. It was a gorgeous dress. It was exquisite.

It had taken her two years to make.

The pleasure was in making it. Not in wearing it.

This was dumb. She felt a cold spot on her leg and there was Kleppy, wagging his tail, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Looking hopefully at the front door.

Looking for adventure?

‘I’ll take you round the block before I go to work,’ she told him. ‘And I’ll come home at lunch time. I’m sorry, Klep, but you might be bored this morning. I can’t help it, though. It’s the price you’ve paid for me bailing you out of death row.

‘And I’m going to be in court this morning, too,’ she told him as he looked doleful. ‘You’re a lawyer’s dog and I’m a lawyer. I’m a lawyer with a gorgeous, hand-beaded wedding dress and you’re a lawyer’s dog with a new home. We need to be grateful for what we have. I’m sure we are.’

She was grateful. It was just, as she left for work and Kleppy looked disconsolately after her, she knew how Kleppy felt.

Raff wasn’t in court.

Of course he wasn’t. He didn’t need to be. He was a cop, not a prosecutor, and he had work to do elsewhere. He’d given his evidence yesterday. Philip wouldn’t call him back but she’d sort of hoped the Crown Prosecutor would.

There were things the Crown Prosecutor could ask …

It wasn’t for her to know that or even think that— she was lawyer for the defence —and it also wasn’t for her to have her heart twist because Raff wasn’t here.

She slid into the chair beside Philip and he smiled and kissed her and then said, ‘Second thoughts about the dog? He really is unsuitable.’

This was what would happen, she thought. He’d agree and then slowly work on her to come round to his way of thinking.

He wasn’t all noble.

‘No, and I won’t be having any,’ she said.

‘Where is he now?’

‘Safely in my garden.’ Four-foot fence. Safe as houses.

‘He’ll make a mess.’

‘I walked him before I left. Walking’s good. I’m going to do it every morning from now on. Maybe you can join us.’

‘Gym’s far better aerobic exercise,’ he said. ‘You need a fully planned programme to get full cardiac advantage. Walking’s …’

She was no longer listening.

Her morning had begun.

It was very, very boring.

The hands on the clock moved at a snail’s pace.

How bored would Kleppy be?

How bored was she?

Malcolm, the Crown Prosecutor, should do something about his voice, she thought. It was a voice designed to put a girl to sleep.

Ooh, Wallace looked smug.

Ooh, she was bored …

Lunch time. All rise. Hooray.

And then the door of the court swung open.

All eyes turned. As they would. Every person in the room, with the possible exception of Wallace and Philip, was probably as bored as she was.

And suddenly she wasn’t bored at all. For standing in the doorway was … Raff.

Full cop uniform. Grim expression. Gun at his side, cop ready for action. At his side—only lower—was a white fluff ball attached to a pink diamanté lead. And in his arms he was carrying Kleppy.

‘I’m sorry, Your Honour,’ he said, addressing the judge. ‘But I’m engaged in a criminal investigation. Is Abigail Callahan in court?’

Of course she was. Abby rose, her colour starting to rise as well. ‘K … Kleppy,’ she stammered.

‘Could you come with me, please, Miss Callahan?’ Raff said.

‘She’s not going anywhere,’ Philip snapped, rising and putting his hand on Abby’s shoulder. ‘What the …’

‘If she won’t come willingly, I’m afraid I need to arrest her,’ Raff said. ‘Accessory after the fact.’ He looked down at his feet, to where the white fluff ball pranced on the end of her pink diamanté lead. A lead that led up to Kleppy’s jaw. Kleppy had a very tight hold. ‘Abigail Callahan, your dog has stolen Mrs Fryer’s peke. You need to come now and sort this out or I’ll have to arrest you for theft.’

The courtroom was quiet. So quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

Justice Weatherby’s face was impassive. Almost impassive.

There was a tiny tic at the side of his mouth.

Raff’s face was impassive, too. He stood with Kleppy in his arms, waiting for Abby to respond.

Kleppy looked disgusting. He was coated in thick black dust. His tail was wagging, nineteen to the dozen.

In his mouth he held the end of the pink lead and his jaw was clamped as if he wasn’t going to let go any time soon.

On the other end of the lead, the white fluff ball was wagging her tail as well.

‘He was locked in my backyard,’ Abby said, eyeing the two with dismay.

‘My sharp investigative skills inform me that the dog can dig,’ Raff said, shaking Kleppy a little so a rain of dirt fell onto the polished wood of the courtroom door. ‘Will you come with me, please, ma’am?’

‘Just give the dog back to whoever owns it,’ Philip snapped, his hand gripping Abby’s shoulder tightly now. ‘Tie the other one up outside. Abigail’s busy.’

‘Raff, please …’ Abby said.

‘Mrs Fryer’s hopping mad,’ Raff said, unbending a little. ‘I’ve waited until court broke for lunch but I’m waiting no longer. You want to avoid charges, you come and placate her.’

She glanced at Philip. Uh-oh. She glanced at Justice Weatherby. The tic at the corner of his mouth had turned into a grin. Someone was giggling at the back of the court.

Philip’s face looked like thunder.

‘Sort the dog, Abigail,’ he snapped, gathering his notes. ‘Just get it out of here and stop it interfering with our lives.’

‘Right this way, ma’am,’ Raff said amiably. ‘The solicitor for the defence will be right back, just as soon as she sorts her stolen property.’

Abby walked out behind Raff, trying to look professional, but she didn’t feel professional and when she reached the outside steps and the autumn sun hit her face she felt suddenly a wee bit hysterical. And also … a wee bit free?

As if Raff had sprung her from jail.

Which was a dumb thing to think. Raff had attempted to make her a laughing stock.