Free Dead Heat by Caroline Carver Page A

Larkins got off scot-free, Daniel had pestered
     the courts and the police, and when he had no luck, swore retribution. Four years later, when her mother had visited her in
     Sydney, she’d asked for news about old school friends and, eyes twinkling, Linette had said, “Daniel Carter, you mean?”
    Embarrassed that her mother knew about her crush, she’d shrugged.
    “He firebombed poor Mathew Larkins’s house,” her mother told her. “They didn’t find any evidence it was him, but I heard from
     Angie at the Road House Café that his mother is sure her son did it.” Linette sighed. “I don’t understand him. Waiting all
     that time, planning Mathew’s destruction. So unforgiving.”
    Now, as Georgia caught a glimpse of a police car sweeping down Church Street and vanishing from sight, she thought it was
     little wonder Daniel had joined the police. The boy may have exacted vengeance, but at least the man had a badge.
    Still thinking about Daniel, she flinched when the phone rang. Since Mrs. Scutchings had gone to buy a newspaper—she was itching
     to get the gossip on the murdered man, Ronnie Chen, at the beach—and there was a little pad of daisy-decorated paper beside
     the phone, along with a pen, she decided she’d better do the right thing and take a message.
    “Hello?”
    “Georgia?”
    “Mum?”
    “Sweet, I heard from Katie at the general store this morning.” Her words were hurried, breathless. “How awful for you. And
     poor old Bri. I’m bringing some hypericum. It’s meant to help injuries where the nerves are affected. Do you have some arnica?
     And what about rescue remedy? You really should have a drop or two every hour or so. Jeremy and I were planning on heading
     south this afternoon, stopping over with the Arlies in Lakeland, but we’ve already rung them . . .”
    Georgia tuned out as soon as her mother mentioned Jeremy, her latest earring-toting, ponytailed boyfriend. They’d met for
     the first time at Tom’s funeral, and just as she knew he wouldn’t want to see her again, she didn’t particularly wish to see
     him either.
    “Mum, I’m fine. You head on home.”
    From the window by the phone she could see the top of an ornate crypt in the near corner of the cemetery. A stone angel stood
     with its wings furled, hands clasped in front of its chest, head bowed. Rivulets of rain were running down its face. Oh, Tom,
     she thought, her tears rising. That angel. He’s crying for you.
    “Sweet, you shouldn’t be alone.”
    Georgia swallowed her tears. “I’ve barely a scratch on me, I swear it. You go to Lakeland. I’m fine.”
    “No, Georgia.”
    Startled, Georgia started at the phone as if it had levitated. The only time she’d heard her mother use that tone of voice
     was when, just outside their cabin, she had gone to pick up a centipede the size of a Havana cigar, which she hadn’t known
     was poisonous.
    “Jeremy’s going to make his own way south, so it’ll just be me. I’ll be leaving for Nulgarra the second I’ve put the phone
     down.” Linette’s tone hadn’t changed. Hard, determined. “I want to see you. Make sure you’re really all right.”
    “I’m
fine.
”
    “The more you say you’re fine, the more I want to make sure. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
    Click.
    Georgia stood gazing at a straggly spider plant on the window sill. Mum to the rescue. Amazing. She didn’t think she had it
     in her. But then she remembered the time not long after Dad had died, when a burglar had seen their unlatched windows in Glastonbury
     and crept into their house. Her mother hadn’t hidden beneath the bedclothes; she’d ripped her bedside light free of its socket
     and charged for the man. Then she’d chased him outside and along the street dressed in nothing but her flimsy nightie.
    Back then she and Dawn hadn’t been astounded as much as impressed, and now she was going through the same emotions. Georgia
     gave a small smile, and shook her head. Her