Banksia Bay

She drove her car into her personal parking space. How neat was this? She remembered the day her name had gone up. Her parents had cracked champagne.

It was a fine car park. But … it was in full sun.

She might not be a dog person but she wasn’t dumb. She couldn’t leave Kleppy here. Nor could she take him home—or not yet—not until she’d done something about dog-proofing. Her parents? Ha! They’d take him right back to Fred.

So she drove two blocks to the local park. There were shade trees here and she could tie him by her car. Anyone passing would know he hadn’t been abandoned.

She hoped Kleppy would know it, too.

She gave him water and his bone and he slumped on the ground and looked miserable.

Maybe he didn’t know it.

She looked at him and sighed. She took off her jacket—her lovely tailored jacket that matched her skirt exactly—and she laid it beside Kleppy.

He sniffed it. The paw came out again—and he inched forward on his belly until it was under him.

Her very expensive jacket was on dirt and grass, and under dog. Her professional jacket.

She didn’t actually like that jacket anyway; she preferred less serious clothes. She was five foot four and a bit … mousy. But maybe lawyers should be mousy. Her shiny brown hair curled happily when she let it hang to her shoulders but Philip liked it in a chignon. She had freckles but Philip liked her to wear foundation that disguised them. She had a neat figure that looked good in a suit. Professional. Lawyers should be professional.

She’d given up on professional this morning. She was so late.

Oh, but Kleppy looked sad.

‘I’ll be back at midday,’ she told him. ‘Two hours, tops. Promise. Then we’ll work out where we go from here.’

Where? She’d think of something. She must.

Maybe Raff …

There was a thought.

Fred had said Raff had a menagerie. What difference would one dog make? Once upon a time, he’d had seven.

Instead of advice, maybe she could persuade him to take him.

‘You’d like Rafferty Finn,’ she told Kleppy. ‘He’s basically a good man.’ Good but flawed—trouble—but she didn’t need to go into that with Kleppy.

But how to talk him into it? Or Philip into the alternative?

It was too hard to think of that right now. She grabbed her briefcase and headed to the courthouse without looking back. Or without looking back more than half a dozen times.

Kleppy watched her until she was out of sight.

Heart twist. She didn’t want to leave him.

It couldn’t matter. Her work was in front of her and what was more important than work?

What was facing her was the case of The Crown versus Wallace Baxter.

Wallace was one of three Banksia Bay accountants. The other two made modest incomes. Wallace, however, had the biggest house in Banksia Bay. The Baxter kids went to the best private school in Sydney. Sylvia Baxter drove a Mercedes Coupé, and they skied in Aspen twice a year. They owned a lodge there.

‘Lucky investments,’ Wallace always said but, after years of juggling, his web of dealings had turned into one appalling tangle. Wallace himself wasn’t suffering—his house, cars, even the ski lodge in Aspen, were all in his wife’s name—but there were scores of Banksia Bay’s retirees who were suffering a lot.

‘It’s just the financial crisis,’ Wallace had said as Philip and Abby had gone over his case notes. ‘I can’t be responsible for the failure of overseas banks. Just because I’m global …’

Because he was global, his financial dealings were hard to track.

This was a small case by national standards. The Crown Prosecutor who covered Banksia Bay should have retired years ago. The case against Wallace had been left pretty much to Raff, who had few resources and less time. So Raff was right—Philip and Abby had every chance of getting their client off.

Philip rose to meet her, looking relieved. The documents they needed were in her briefcase. He kept the bulk of the confidential files, but it was her job to bring day to day stuff to court.

‘What the …?’

‘Did Raff tell you what happened?’

Philip cast Raff a look of irritation across the court. There was no love lost between these two men—there never had been. ‘He said you had to take a dog to the vet, to get it put down. Isn’t that his job?’

‘He had cars to move.’

‘He got here before you. What kept you? And where’s your jacket?’

‘It got dog hair on it.’ That, at least, was true. ‘Can we get on?’

‘It’d be appreciated,’ the judge said dryly from the bench.

So she sat and watched as Philip decimated the Crown’s case. Maybe his irritation gave him an edge this morning, she thought. He was smooth, intelligent, insightful—the best lawyer she knew. He’d do magnificently in the city. That he’d returned home to Banksia Bay—to her—seemed incredible.

Her parents thought so. They loved him to bits. What was more, Philip’s father had been her brother Ben’s godfather. They were almost family already.

‘He almost makes up for our Ben,’ her mother said over and over, and their engagement had been a foregone conclusion that made everyone happy.

Except … Except …

Don’t go there.

She generally didn’t. It was only in the small hours when she woke and thought of Philip’s dry kisses, and thought why don’t I feel … why don’t I feel …?

Like she did when she looked at Rafferty Finn?

No. This was pre-wedding nerves. She had no business thinking like that. If she so much as looked at Raff in that way it’d break her parents’ hearts.

So no and no and no.

Raff was on the stand now, steady and sure, giving his evidence with solid backup. His investigation stretched over years, with so many pointers …

But all of those pointers were circumstantial.

She suspected there were things in Philip’s briefcase that might not be circumstantial.

Um … don’t go there. There was such a thing as lawyer-client confidentiality. Even if Baxter admitted dishonesty to them outright—which he hadn’t—they couldn’t use it against him.

So Raff didn’t have the answers to Philip’s questions. The

Crown Prosecutor didn’t ask the right questions of Baxter. It’d take a few days, maybe more, but even by lunch time no one doubted the outcome.

At twelve the court rose. The courtroom emptied.

‘You might like to go home and get another jacket,’ Philip said. ‘I’m taking Wallace to lunch.’

She wasn’t up to explaining about Kleppy right now. Where to start? But she surely didn’t want to have lunch with Wallace. Acting for the guy made her feel dirty.

‘Go ahead,’ she said.

Philip left, escorting a smug Wallace. She felt an almost irresistible urge to talk to the Crown Prosecutor, tell him to push harder.

It was only suspicion. She had no proof.

‘Thanks for taking Kleppy.’ Raff was right behind her, and made her jump. Her heart did the same stupid skittering thing it had done for years whenever she heard his voice. She turned to face him and he was smiling at her, looking rueful. ‘Sorry, Abby. That was a hard thing to ask you to do this morning, but I had no choice.’

Putting Kleppy down. A hard thing …

‘It was too hard,’ she whispered. The Crown Prosecutor was leaving for lunch. If she wanted to talk to him …

She was lawyer for the defence. What was she thinking?

‘Hey, but you’re tough.’ Raff motioned to the back of the courtroom, where Bert and Gwen Mackervale were shuffling out to find somewhere to eat their packed sandwiches. ‘Not like the Mackervales. They’re as soft a touch as any I’ve seen. They lost their house, yet you’ll get Wallace off.’

‘Raff, this is inappropriate. I’m a defence lawyer. You know it’s what I do.’

‘You don’t have to. You’re better than this, Abby.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Yeah, well …’ He shrugged. ‘I’m going to find me a hamburger. See you later.’

Uh-oh. Maybe she shouldn’t have snapped. Definitely she shouldn’t have snapped. Not when there was such a big favour to ask.

How to ask?

Just ask.

‘You couldn’t cope with another dog, could you?’ she managed and he stilled.

‘Another …’

‘I couldn’t,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t. He’s still alive. Raff, he … he looked at me.’

‘He looked at you.’ Raff was looking at her as if she’d just landed from Mars.

‘I couldn’t get him put down.’

Raff was carrying papers. He placed them on the nearest bench without breaking his gaze. He stared at her for a full minute.

She didn’t stare back. She stared at her shoes instead. They were nice black shoes. Maybe a bit high. Pert, she thought. Pert was good.

There was a smudge on one toe. She considered bending to wipe it and decided against it.

Still silence.

‘You’re keeping Kleppy?’ he said at last.

She shook her head. ‘I’m … I don’t think it’s possible. I’m asking if you could take him. Fred says you have a menagerie. One more wouldn’t … wouldn’t be much more trouble. I could pay you for his keep.’

‘Fred suggested …’ He sounded flabbergasted.

‘He didn’t,’ she admitted. ‘I thought of it myself.’

‘That I’d take Kleppy?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered and she thought that she sounded about eight years old again. She sounded pathetic.

‘No,’ he said.

She looked up at him then. Raff Finn was a good six inches taller than she was. More. He was a bit too big. He was a bit too male. He was a bit too … Raff?

He was also a bit too angry.

‘N … No?’

‘No!’ His expression was a mixture of incredulity and fury. ‘I don’t believe this. You strung out a dog’s life in the hope I’d take him?’

‘No, I …’

‘Do you know how miserable he is?’

‘That’s why I …’

‘Decided to give him to me. Thanks, Abby, but no.’

‘But …’

‘I’m not a soft option.’

‘You have all those animals.’

‘Because Sarah loves them. Do you know how much they cost to feed? I can’t go away. I can’t do anything because Sarah breaks her heart over each and every one of them. Don’t you dare do this to me, Abby. I’m not your soft option. If you saved Kleppy, then he’s yours.’

‘I can’t …’

‘And neither can I. You brought this on yourself. You deal with it yourself.’ His voice was rough as gravel, his anger palpable. ‘I need to go. I didn’t get breakfast and I don’t intend to miss lunch. I’ll see you back in court at one.’

He turned away. He strode to the court door and she chewed her lip and thought. But then she decided there wasn’t time for thinking. She panicked instead.

‘Raff?’

He stopped, not looking back. ‘What?’

Sometimes only an apology would do. She was smart enough to know that this was one of those times. Maybe a little backtracking wouldn’t hurt either.

‘Raff, I’m very sorry,’ she said. ‘It was just a thought—or maybe it was just a wild hope—but the decision to save Kleppy was mine. Asking you was an easy option and I won’t ask again. But, moving on, if I’m to keep him … I know nothing about dogs. Fred didn’t suggest you take him, but he did suggest I ask you for help. He said you’ll tell me all the things I need to care for him. So please …’

‘Please what?’

‘Just tell me what I need to buy at the Stock and Station store. I have a meeting with the wedding caterers after work, so I need to do my shopping now.’

‘You’re seriously thinking you’ll keep him?’

‘I don’t have a choice.’

He was facing her now, his face a mixture of incredulity and … laughter? Where had laughter come from? ‘You’re keeping Kleppy?’ He said it as if she’d chosen Kleppy above all others.

‘There’s no other dogs out there?’ she said, alarmed, and he grinned. His grin lit his face—lit the whole court. Oh, she knew that grin …

Trouble. Tragedy.

‘There’s thousands of dogs,’ he said. ‘So many needing homes. But you have to fall for Kleppy.’

‘What’s wrong with Kleppy?’

‘Nothing.’ He was still grinning. ‘I take it you haven’t told Philip.’

‘I … No.’

‘So where’s Kleppy now?’ His grin faded. ‘You haven’t left him in the car? The sun …’

‘I know that much,’ she said, indignant. ‘I took the car to the park and I tied him to a nice shady tree. He has water and feed. He even has my jacket.’

‘He has your jacket.’ He sounded bemused, as if there was some private joke she wasn’t privy to.

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ve tied him up … how?’

‘I bought a lead.’

‘Please tell me it’s a chain.’

‘The chains looked cruel. It’s webbing. Pretty. Red with pictures of balls on it.’

‘I don’t believe this.’

‘What’s wrong? ‘

But she didn’t have a chance to answer. Instead, he grabbed her hand, towed her out of the courthouse—practically at a run—and he headed for the park.

Dragging her behind him.

Kleppy was gone.

Her pretty red lead was chewed into two pieces—or at least she assumed it was chewed into two pieces. One piece was still tied to the tree.

Her jacket lay on the ground, rumpled. The water bowl was half empty. Apparently chewing leads was thirsty work. The marrowbone wasn’t touched.

No dog.

‘He doesn’t like being confined, our Kleppy,’ Raff said, taking in the scene with professional care.

‘You know this how?’ He’d chewed through a lead?

‘It’s always been a problem. I’m guessing he’ll make tracks up to the Abrahams place, but who knows where he’ll end up in the meantime.’

‘He’ll be up at Isaac’s?’

Isaac lived halfway up the mountain at the back of the town. Raff was looking concerned. ‘It is a bit far,’ he admitted. ‘And from … here. It’ll be off his chosen beat.’ He raked his hair. ‘Of all the stupid … I don’t have time to go look for a dog.’

‘I’ll look for him.’

‘You know where to look?’

‘Do you?’

‘Backyards,’ he said. ‘Never takes the fastest route, our Kleppy.’ He raked his hair again. Looking tired. ‘I need lunch. If I’m not back in court at one then Baxter’ll definitely get off. You need to do this, Abby. I can’t.’

Look for a dog all afternoon … ‘Philip’ll kill me.’

‘Then I guess the wedding’ll be off. Is that a good thing?’

Raff spoke absently, as if it didn’t bother him if her wedding was at risk. As indeed it didn’t. What business was it of his to care about the wedding? What business was it of his to even comment on it? She opened her mouth to say so, but suddenly his gaze focused, sharpened. ‘Is that …?’

She turned to see.

It was—and the change was extraordinary.

When she’d left him two hours ago, Kleppy had looked defeated and depressed. When he’d crawled onto her jacket he hadn’t had the energy to even rise off his stomach.

Now he was prancing across the park towards them, looking practically jaunty. His rough coat was never going to be pretty. One of his ears flopped down, almost covering his eye. His tail was a bit ragged.

But they could see his tail wagging when he was still a hundred yards away. And, as he got closer …

He had something in his mouth. Something pink and lacy.

What the …?

‘It’s a bra,’ Abby breathed as the little dog reached them. She bent down and the dog circled her twice, then came to her outstretched hand. He rubbed himself against her leg and his whole body shivered. With delight?

He was carrying the bra like a trophy. She touched it and he dropped it into her hand, then stood back as if he’d just presented her with a cheque for a million dollars. His body language was unmistakable.

Look what I’ve found for you! Aren’t I the cleverest dog in the world?

She dropped the bra and picked him up, hugging him close. He wriggled frantically and she put him back down. He picked up the bra again, placed it back in her hand and then allowed her to pick him up—as long as she kept the bra.

His meaning couldn’t be plainer. ‘I’ve brought you a gift. You appreciate it.’

‘You’ve brought me a bra,’ she managed and she felt like crying. ‘Oh, Kleppy …’

‘It could just as easily have been men’s jocks,’ Raff said. He lifted the end of the bra that was hanging loose. There was a price tag attached. ‘I thought so. He’s a bit small to rob clothes lines, our Kleppy. This has come from Main Street. Morrisy Drapers are having a sale. This will have come from the discount bin at the front of the store.’

Had it? She checked it out. Cop and lawyer for the defence, standing in the sun, examining evidence.

Pink bra. Nylon. White and silver frills. About an E Plus Cup. Room for about three of Abby.

‘Very … very useful,’ Abby managed.

‘You’ll need to pay for it.’

‘Sorry?’

‘It’s theft,’ Raff said, touching the bra’s middle with a certain degree of caution. It was looking a bit soggy. ‘He never hurts anything. He hunts treasures; he never destroys them. But they do get a bit … wet. Taking it back and apologising’s not going to cut it.’

‘Will they know he’s stolen it?’

‘He’s not a cat burglar,’ Raff said gravely, though the sides of his mouth were twitching. ‘Dog burglars don’t have the same finesse. He’s a snatch and grab man, our Kleppy. There’ll be a dozen people on Main Street who’ll be able to identify him in a line up.’

‘Oh, my …’ And then she paused. Kleppy.

Kleppy was a strange name but she’d hardly had time to think about it. Now … ‘Kleppy. Oh …’

Raff looked like a man starting to enjoy himself. ‘Got it,’ he said, grinning. ‘And there’s another reason you’re not offloading this mutt onto me. This is a dog who lives to present his master with surprises. No dead rats or old bones for his guy. It has to be interesting. Expensive is good. One of a set’s his favourite. Isaac gave up on him long since—he just paid for the damage and got on with it. So now here’s Kleppy, deciding you’re his new owner. Welcome to dog ownership, Abigail Callahan. You’re the proud owner of Banksia Bay’s biggest kleptomaniac—and also the littlest.’

A kleptomaniac … Kleppy.

She stared at Raff as if he was out of his mind. He gazed back, lips twitching, that dangerous smile lurking deep within.

She was about to present her fiancé with a kleptomaniac dog?

‘I don’t believe it,’ she managed at last. ‘There’s no such thing.’

‘You want to know how I know this dog?’ He wasn’t even trying to disguise his grin. ‘I’d like to say I’m personally acquainted with every dog in Banksia Bay but, even with Sarah’s help, I can’t manage that. Nope, I’m acquainted with Kleppy because I’ve arrested him.’

‘Arrested …’

‘I’ve caught him red-handed—or red-pawed—on any number of occasions. The problem is that he doesn’t know how to hide it. Like now. He steals and then he shows off.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘You’ve already said that.’

‘But …’

‘That’s why no one wants him,’ he said, humour fading. ‘He’s always been a problem. Henrietta’s had to be honest with everyone who came to the Shelter looking for the ideal pet. He isn’t ideal. Isaac paid out on Kleppy’s behalf more times than I can say. He’s hidden stuff and he’s been accused of stealing himself. Isaac never cared what people thought of him, which was just as well, as there’s been more women’s underwear end up at his house than you can imagine. He burned most of it—what choice did he have? Can you imagine wandering the town saying who owns this G-string? But he loved Kleppy, you see.’ The smile returned. ‘Like you will.’

‘I … This is appalling.’

‘I told you to get him put down.’

‘You know I’m a soft option.’ Anger hit then, fury, pure and simple. ‘You know me, Raff Finn. You put this dog in my car because you knew I wouldn’t be able to have him put down. You know I’m a soft touch.’

‘Now how would I know that?’ he said softly. ‘I haven’t known you for a very long time, Abby. You’ve grown up. You’ve got yourself engaged to Philip. The Abby I knew could no sooner have married Philip than fly. You’re a lawyer engaged in getting Wallace Baxter off. A lawyer doing cases like that—of course you can get a dog put down.’

His gaze met hers, direct, challenging, knowing he was calling a bluff she couldn’t possibly meet.

‘You still can,’ he told her. ‘Put Kleppy in the car and take him back to Fred. You’ve made his last hours happy by giving him the freedom for one last hoist. He’ll die a happy dog.’

You still can.

Say something.

She couldn’t think of a thing to say.

She was hugging Kleppy, who had a pink bra somehow looped around his ears.

She still hugged Kleppy.

What Raff was saying was sensible. Very sensible. There were too many dogs in the world. She’d done her best by this one. She’d let him have a happy morning—if indeed Raff was right and Kleppy did enjoy stealing.

But he was certainly a happier dog now than he’d been when she’d first met him. He was warm and nuzzly. He was poking his damp nose against her neck, giving her a tentative lick.

His backside was wriggling.

Take him back to Fred? No way.

She’d always wanted a dog.

Philip would hate a dog.

Her marriage suddenly loomed before her. Loomed? Wrong word, but she couldn’t think of another one.

Philip was wonderful. He was her rock. He’d looked after her and her family for ever. When Ben had died he’d held her up when her world seemed to be disintegrating.

Philip was right for her. Her parents loved him. Everyone thought Philip was wonderful. If she hadn’t married him …

She hadn’t married him, she reminded herself. Not yet. That was the point.

In nine days she’d be married. She’d move into the fabulous house Philip had bought for them, and she’d be Philip’s wife.

Philip’s wife would never bring home a kleptomaniac dog. She’d never bring home any sort of dog. So, if she wanted one …

She took a deep breath and she knew exactly what she’d do. Her last stand … Like it or leave it, she thought, and she sounded desperate, even to herself. But she had made up her mind.

‘I’m keeping him.’

‘Good for you,’ Raff said and the twinkle was back with a vengeance. ‘Can I be there when you tell Philip?’

‘Get lost.’

‘That’s not kind. Not when you need help to buy what Kleppy needs.’

‘I’m starting to get a very good idea of what Kleppy needs,’ she said darkly. ‘An eight-foot fence and a six-foot chain.’

‘He’ll mope.’

‘Then he’ll have to learn not to mope. It’s that or dead.’

‘You’ll explain that to him how?’

‘You’re not being helpful.’

‘No,’ he said and glanced at his watch. ‘I’m not. I need a hamburger and time’s running out before court resumes. You want a list?’

‘No. I mean …’ The afternoon suddenly stretched before her, long and lonely. Or not long and lonely for her. Long and lonely for the little dog squirming in her arms. Her thief. ‘I do need a list. I also need a chain.’ She hesitated. ‘But I can’t leave him here. This morning was only two hours. This afternoon’s four at least before I can collect him.’

‘So take him home.’

‘I can’t.’ It was practically a wail. She caught herself. Fought for a little dignity. ‘I mean … it’s not dog-proof. I need an hour or so there to get things organised.’

‘That’s fair enough.’ He paused, surveyed her face and then decided to be helpful. ‘You want me to ask Sarah to help?’

Sarah. Her eyes widened. Of course. Sarah loved dogs. And … Maybe her first suggestion was still possible. Maybe …

‘No,’ Raff said before she opened her mouth. ‘Sarah’s not taking ownership of another dog and if you ask her I’ll personally run you out of town. I mean that, Abby.’

‘I wouldn’t ask her.’

‘No?’

She managed a twisted smile, abandoning her last forlorn hope.

‘No.’

‘Good, then,’ he said briskly, moving on. ‘But she’ll enjoy taking care of him this afternoon. Kleppy’ll be tired after his excursion. We have a safe yard. The other dogs are quiet—they won’t overwhelm him—and you can come by this evening and pick him up.’