Murder in Murloo (Dusty Kent Mysteries Book 1) by Brigid George

Author:Brigid George [George, Brigid]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: mystery, murder, cozy, Australia, women sleuths, whodunit, crime fiction
Publisher: Potoroo Press
Published: 2015-02-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

“I’m going to visit Uncle,” Dusty said when we were back in the car. “Uncle calms me down. You know, puts things in perspective.”

“Nice to have an uncle like that,” I said.

“Would you like to come or shall I drop you at the pub or the café and pick you up on the way back?”

I decided to go and meet Dusty’s uncle. We headed along the main road and soon left the township behind and entered bushland that came right up to the edges of the narrow tarred road.

“It’s not far. We just follow the highway for a few kilometres and then turn off.”

“Highway?”

Dusty grinned at me. “Yes. This is officially a highway.”

When we turned off, it was onto a dirt track that was barely wide enough for one vehicle. Tree branches and ferns brushed against the car and squashed up into the window glass as it bumped along.

“Is this a highway, too?” I asked.

Dusty laughed. “It’s an old logging track. Once upon a time there was a bustling timber industry in this area. Uncle lives in one of the old huts.”

“He owns a piece of this bushland?”

“A small piece of it. He doesn’t really believe in people owning the bush but that’s the way our world is. If he didn’t own it, the government would and he doesn’t trust the government with it.”

“So he bought it to keep the government out?”

“He didn’t buy it. It belongs to his family. Actually, my grandfather bought it and put their name on the title. Well, something like that. It’s a bit complicated, but apparently Granddad fixed it so that the property would always remain in the Bendoc family.”

“Bendoc? As in Charlie Bendoc?”

“Yep; as in Charlie Bendoc.”

“I read an old newspaper article online that described him as a friend of your father. It didn’t mention that he was your uncle.”

“No, well, he’s not. He’s my godfather. Uncle is a term of respect.”

When the logging track came to an abrupt end, we left the car and walked through the dense forest until we came to a clearing and a ramshackle hut that had been put together with pieces of wood and bark.

“Uncle!” called Dusty.

We stood in front of the hut under its makeshift verandah and waited. The sharp tang of eucalyptus mingled with the moistness in the air. Dusty’s face softened as she looked up into the gum trees.

“This was my second home,” she said. “I came here all the time when Uncle and Auntie lived here. Their ten children became my cousins—not officially, but cousins just the same. I never really felt like an only child, I always had plenty of other kids to play with. We climbed the trees, chased lizards and goannas all over the place and just had heaps of fun together. It was great.”

“I’m guessing you were the only redhead in that mob of kids,” I said.

She laughed and nodded.

“I don’t suppose the conventional method of knocking on the door would work?” I asked, after we had waited for a few more minutes.

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