Murder with the Lot Read Online Free PDF

Surely murderers don’t hang around after the event, snapping twigs, waiting to be found.
    Dean would be here any minute. Surely. The dust storm would have covered up those footprints, though. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to remember what they’d looked like. I should have taken a photo on my phone.
    Red dust crept in around the doorway. So when had Mona died? Last time I saw her was yesterday morning when I’d come across her and Aurora along the road.
    So she must have been killed sometime between Saturday morning and Sunday at—I glanced at my watch—seven-thirty. That would help Dean determine time of death. Homicide would be impressed. It’d be a chance for me to make it up to Dean. Maybe it’d help him get over that stupid business with Ernie.
    A moaning sound from outside. I jumped, then peered out through the cracked window, into the moving sea of dust. Endless rust-brown shadows out there, any one of them could be a murderer.
    A tapping noise. I whirled around. A man stood in the doorway, rapping at the jamb with a skinny hand. I shrank back into my corner, star picket clutched in a shaky fist.
    He stood there, his long white hair and ragged beard whipping around his face, a frayed check shirt flapping against his bony frame. He looked like Burke, or maybe Wills, one of those lost explorers from Australia’s past. A gaunt-looking fella on an expedition headed straight for doom. He shambled in and a large black dog followed him.
    I eyed him as he sat on the floor opposite me. He set down an esky and made room next to him for the dog. The hut filled with a sour, unwashed smell. The dog had unfriendly eyes and big jaws designed for killing things. It kept its unblinking gaze on my face.
    The man shook sand and dust from his hair and rubbed it out of his beard with knobbly fingers. ‘Good morning.’ He smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Invigorating wind.’
    No gun that I could see. ‘Yep,’ I croaked. ‘She’s windy all right.’
    He closed his eyes, leaned back against the creaking wall, one arm resting on the esky.
    â€˜Ah, you know you’re trespassing?’ I said. ‘This is actually private property.’ I firmed my grip on the star picket.
    He opened his eyes. ‘Oh? I saw the gate was open and…’
    â€˜You didn’t open it?’
    â€˜Oh no, no.’ He straightened up, smoothed down his shirt. ‘I’m a birdwatcher. This looks like excellent scarlet-chested parrot country. And a good spot for Major Mitchell cockatoos. A pleasant little place, in fact.’ He gestured at the dust storm raging outside.
    A birdwatcher without binoculars.
    â€˜Why don’t we get better acquainted, you and I? I’m Noel. You’ll soon find I’m no trouble.’
    It sounded more like a threat than an invitation.
    â€˜Where you from?’ I said.
    â€˜Oh, I rove,’ he waved a hand in a regal way. ‘I’m not into ties. And Bubbles loves to travel.’ He looked at the dog. ‘We have a van that we call home.’
    The dog made slopping sounds, licking dust from around its mouth. It kept its death-stare fixed on me.
    â€˜So,’ I cleared my throat. ‘You stay here last night, Noel?’
    He froze. ‘Possibly. I can’t recall at the moment.’
    â€˜Just wondering if you heard anything.’
    â€˜What kind of thing?’
    â€˜Gunshots. Screaming, maybe.’
    He stared. ‘Gunshots? Do you mean hunters?’
    â€˜There’s a dead woman by the lake. Shot in the head. Didn’t you see her? I’ve phoned the police. They’re on their way. Be here any minute.’
    â€˜The police?’ He glanced around.
    â€˜So, did you? See or hear anything?’ I persisted.
    â€˜No, no. Look, this is nothing to do with me.’ He stood up. ‘I think I’ll take a rain check on those scarlet-chesteds. Shame.’
    â€˜You’d