Dead Heat by Caroline Carver Read Free Book Online Page A

along with Mick’s Café, famous for its all-day brekky and deep-fried oysters. She’d seen
     Mick shut up shop only once, and even then it had only been for two days when his mum had died, because the second the news
     got out, the town rallied around. Sheryl, the local attorney’s wife, had donned Mick’s huge grease-stained pinafore, her brother
     the vats of oil, and between them they’d kept the café going. Sure, the sausages were underdone, the oysters burned into circular
     cinders like lumps of coal, but nobody cared. They were doing their bit. Doing what neighbors were supposed to do.
    As Dr. Ophir stitched, Georgia couldn’t feel anything through the anesthetic, just the sensation of pulling and tugging. She
     watched a bare-chested man the color of tea walking down Ocean Street. He had a fishing box and rod in one hand, a big cooler
     in the other, and her breath caught. She knew he was heading for the mouth of the Parunga River, where Tom used to love fishing
     for flathead and trevally just after a storm. This time of year was the best angling, when the streams were full and fish
     movement at its greatest. If Tom were alive, he’d be out there fishing too.
    Distantly she wondered what would happen to her grandfather’s little fibro house now that he was dead. Her mother would probably
     sell it and take the proceeds back to Byron Bay with her. At least now her mum would have some money in her bank account,
     so long as she didn’t give it away to one of her charity cases, that was. Not for the first time, Georgia wondered at her
     mother’s astonishingly carefree attitude to life. At fifty-one, her mother had no pension, no superannuation, no savings.
     She lived in a rented caravan at the far end of a huge caravan park in Byron Bay, just south of Brisbane, where she drew up
     astrological charts for sixty bucks a throw, and read fortunes for twenty. She sold the odd crystal at the local market and
     collected her monthly state benefit check, but some days she had no money, not even a dollar-twenty for a liter of milk. It
     never seemed to bother her. Inheriting Tom’s house wouldn’t change her mother’s life, but it would help stop Georgia worrying.
    The doctor finished stitching. “There’s no need for you to be in overnight. Are you okay to stay with someone in town? It’s
     all arranged, and if you have any difficulty, they can bring you straight back here.” He paused and gave her a smile. “But
     I doubt that’ll be necessary. You’re in excellent shape, considering.”
    “Where’s Lee?”
    “He left after I’d sorted him.” Before she could say anything, he added, “He didn’t leave an address, if that’s what you’re
     asking.”
    “Is he okay?”
    Dr. Ophir nodded.
    “Can I see Bri?”
    He shook his head. “Why don’t you come tomorrow?”
    “Do you know who I’ll be staying with?”
    “Mrs. Scutchings is waiting outside. She said she’d put Lee up as well, if he needs a bed.”
    Georgia gazed at her mud-caked deck shoes, too drained to protest.

SEVEN
    A rmed with a roll of gauze bandage and a tube of antiseptic cream, Georgia watched Mrs. Scutchings march into the hospital,
     sweep her arctic gaze over the rapidly filling buckets, and bark, “The roof should have been fixed before the wet.”
    Irritated, Nurse Hodges tucked the phone beneath her plump chin and glanced up, but Mrs. Scutchings already had hold of Georgia’s
     elbow and was marching her down the muddy path toward an ancient, rusting white Honda, which was double-parked beside an ambulance.
    With a ghastly rattle, the Honda started, its wipers making screeching sounds on each downward arc. Mrs. Scutchings jammed
     the stick into gear and drove down Ocean Road, past Price’s Supermarket, the National Hotel, Mick’s Café, and a Bendigo Community
     Bank.
    There was a new sign outside the park and adventure playground: “Welcome to Nulgarra. Population 1,800. Enjoy Your Stay.”
    As if anyone would