The Dry (Aaron Falk #1)(4)

“Heard from who? Luke?”

“Must have been,” Falk said. “A while ago now, though. Obviously. How old is he?”

“Only five, but already the ringleader half the time.”

They watched as Lachie thrust his makeshift sword into invisible attackers. He had wide-set eyes and curly hair the color of dirt, but Falk couldn’t see much of Gretchen in the boy’s sharp features. He scrambled to recall if Luke had mentioned her being in a relationship or who the boy’s father was. He thought not. He liked to think he’d have remembered that. Falk glanced down at Gretchen’s left hand. It was ringless, but that didn’t mean much these days.

“How’s family life treating you?” he said finally, fishing.

“It’s OK. Lachie can be a bit of a handful,” Gretchen said in an undertone. “And it’s just him and me. But he’s a good kid. And we get by. For now, anyway.”

“Your parents still have their farm?”

She shook her head. “God, no. They retired and sold up about eight years ago now. Moved to Sydney and bought a tiny unit three streets away from my sister and her kids.” She shrugged. “They say they like it. City life. Dad does Pilates apparently.”

Falk couldn’t help smiling at the image of the plain-speaking Mr. Schoner focusing on his inner core and breathing exercises.

“You weren’t tempted to follow?” he said.

She gave a humorless laugh and gestured at the parched trees lining the road. “And leave all this? No. I’ve been here too long; it’s in the blood. You know what it’s like.” She bit the sentence short and glanced sideways. “Or maybe you don’t. Sorry.”

Falk dismissed the remark with a wave of his hand. “What are you doing these days?”

“Farming, of course. Trying to, anyway. I bought the Kellerman place a couple of years back. Sheep.”

“Really?” He was impressed. That was a sought-after property. Or at least it had been when he was younger.

“And you?” she said. “I heard you went into the police.”

“Yeah. I did. Federal. Still there.” They walked on in silence for a way. The frenetic birdsong coming from the trees sounded the same as he remembered. Up ahead, groups of mourners stood out like smudges against the dusty road.

“How are things round here?” he asked.

“Awful.” The word was a full stop. Gretchen tapped a fingertip to her lips with the nervous energy of an ex-smoker. “God knows, it was bad enough before. Everyone’s scared about money and the drought. Then this happened with Luke and his family, and it’s so bad, Aaron. So bad. You can feel it. We’re all walking around like zombies. Not sure what to do, what to say. Watching each other. Trying to work out who’ll be next to snap.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. You can’t imagine.”

“Were you and Luke still close?” Falk asked, curious.

Gretchen hesitated. Her mouth set into an invisible line. “No. We hadn’t been for years. Not like it was when it was the four of us.”

Falk thought about that photo. Luke, Gretchen, himself. And Ellie Deacon, with her long black hair. They’d all been so tight. Teenage tight, where you believe your friends are soul mates and the bonds will last forever.

Luke lied. You lied.

“You obviously stayed in touch with him,” Gretchen said.

“On and off.” At least that was the truth. “We caught up occasionally for a beer when he was in Melbourne, that sort of thing.” Falk paused. “I hadn’t seen him for a few years, though. It gets busy, you know? He had his family, I’ve been working a lot.”

“It’s all right, you don’t have to make excuses. We all feel guilty.”

The community center was heaving. Falk hung back on the steps, and Gretchen tugged on his arm.

“Come on, it’ll be OK. Most people probably won’t even remember you.”

“There’ll be plenty who do. Especially after that photo at the funeral.”

Gretchen made a face. “Yeah, I know. I got a shock too. But look, people have got plenty of things to worry about today other than you. Keep your head down. We’ll go out the back.”

Without waiting for an answer she grasped Falk’s sleeve with one hand and her son with the other and led them in, easing her way through the crowd. The air was stifling. The center’s air conditioner was trying its best, but fighting a losing battle as mourners huddled in the indoor shade. They were mingling solemnly, balancing plastic cups and plates of chocolate ripple cake.

Gretchen made her way to the french doors where collective claustrophobia had forced stragglers out into the patchy playground. They found a spot of shade by the fence line, and Lachie ran off to try his luck on the scalding metal slide.

“You don’t have to stand with me if it’s going to sully your good name,” Falk said, tipping his hat a little farther forward to shield his face.

“Oh, shut up. Besides, I do a good enough job of that myself.”

Falk scanned the playground and spotted an elderly couple he thought might once have been friends of his father’s. They were chatting to a young police officer who, suited and booted in full dress uniform, was sweating under the afternoon sun. His forehead glistened as he nodded politely.