‘You’re saying someone killed her?’

  I take a moment and choose my words. ‘Don’t you think it’s a little odd that two girls around the same age have both been found dead in the past week? And both on or near Willow’s Crossing?’

  Jason raises his brow. ‘You think Jack had something to do with this? Are you serious?’

  ‘Maybe. Or Herm could have done it, and Jack is covering for him.’

  Jason stares at me and then paces the length of my living room, which for him is about three strides.

  ‘No way,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Why would he do that, Mia? It’s ridiculous – on both counts.’

  ‘Then how are two girls dead?’

  He stops and folds himself into the couch, head back and eyes closed. I sit next to him and watch him think, praying he will come up with a solution.

  Eventually he opens his eyes and turns his head to look at me. ‘I love you. You’re my sister.’

  I nod. ‘I know.’

  ‘Your safety is the most important thing to me. Your credentials too. I know how much working with Koda means to you. What you did tonight could be the end of your career.’

  I glance at Koda, and he meets my gaze.

  ‘I know how this is going to sound, but you can’t let Jack know you were out there. Or Herm.’ He inches forward to the edge of the couch. He has a plan. My shoulders unclench just a little. He thinks a moment longer, then nods to himself, a sign he’s made up his mind. ‘You have to pretend this never happened. I know it’s awful, but you just have to.’

  ‘Wait, what?’

  He gets to his feet and looks at me. ‘You shouldn’t have even gone out there in the first place.’

  I stand up and search his face. ‘You can’t be serious? You want me to just leave her out there?’

  ‘I want you to leave the whole thing alone.’

  ‘I can’t. Jason, that’s barbaric.’

  He shakes his head, and rubs at the back of his neck. ‘What’s done is done. Having Jack or Herm come after your career won’t change that, Mia.’

  I want to believe he’s saying all this out of love and concern, but I can’t let go of the fact that his first response was to worry about Jack pulling support for his project. ‘Come after me or your project?’

  He steps in and rests both hands on my shoulders. ‘Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid. Whatever happened to those girls, I'm sure it had nothing to do with Jack or Herm. Jack’s farmhands will find the body. Just let it be. Promise me, Mia.’

  Reluctantly, I nod and agree. ‘Okay, you’re right. I just don’t know how I’ll ever get the visions of her out of my head.’

  ‘Sleep, for a start,’ he tells me, as we walk toward the door. ‘And wash Koda. He stinks.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  MUTED light seeps over the mountain range, turning the sky from slate to silver as snow drifts silently across my windscreen. The clock on the dashboard of my Toyota LandCruiser reads 5.33 am.

  If Jason thinks I’m going to leave that girl lying out in a paddock, he’s lost his mind. Whether he’s motivated by concerns for my welfare, his project, or a little of both makes no difference. There’s no way I can wake up each morning and go about my day knowing her body is out there. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

  Despite everyone having a mobile in their pocket these days, there’s still an old payphone outside the Winton River Hospital. I can use it to call Triple Zero and hopefully get them to connect me directly to the state police instead of Herm. I’ll tell them where she is, no extra details. Just the bare minimum, then get off the phone. Hopefully, by the time they arrive on scene, the snow will have erased any sign of Koda and me having ever been there.

  The drive feels longer than it should, wrapped in the kind of quiet that settles before bad weather rolls through. When I eventually reach the hospital, I push open the car door and keep my head down. If this weather keeps up, skiers and snowboarders will start making their way toward the national park, and Koda and I will be on call around the clock. With every step, I try to focus on prepping our winter packs and mentally listing what equipment we’ll need. Anything to distract myself from the fact I'm about to go against everything my brother told me to do.

  The phone box is just a few metres away. Soon, my part in this will be over, and the authorities can take it from here. What happens to Jack or Herm will be up to the real police. All that matters is the girl’s family will have closure, knowing they’ve said goodbye, and that she is at peace.

  ‘Mia?’

  I freeze and look up. Now in his late fifties, Gerry is the kind of man who, when you look at him, you imagine must have been good-looking when he was young. His hair is receding, probably once thick and wavy, and his shoulders, which might have been broad in his twenties, now stoop just a little — probably from the weight of my mother’s constant nagging.

  ‘Gerry, it’s not even six in the morning. What are you doing here?’

  ‘The hospital was short on triage staff, so they called me in last night. I’m just heading home, but never mind that,’ he says. ‘Why are you here? Are you sick?’

  ‘Oh… I…’ My mind is blank. I have no idea what I can say to explain being here at this hour. ‘I was having those heart flutters again. No doubt just my anxiety playing up,’ I mutter. ‘I thought it was best to come to Emergency and get checked out.’

  He immediately steps in and takes my wrist between his finger and thumb to check my pulse. ‘Did you call your mother?’

  I give him a look that says all it needs to.

  ‘Right, well, your pulse is a little elevated. I’ll come in with you, so you won’t have to wait.’

  ‘That’s not necessary,’ I tell him, pulling my arm back. ‘This isn’t anything new, you know that. You’re tired. Go on home. I’ll be fine.’

  He studies me from head to toe. ‘Your mother told me what happened yesterday.’

  I cast my mind back to the argument we had at the Sweetie. So much has happened since then that, for me, it feels like a week ago.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mia,’ Gerry continues. ‘For what it’s worth, I think Will is a good man. Don’t listen to gossip. Your mother and sister are…’

  ‘Awful people?’

  He immediately purses his lips as if to stop the wrong words accidentally slipping out.

  ‘It’s fine, Gerry. You don’t have to say anything. You go home. I’m okay.’

  He looks me over one last time. ‘Please call if you need anything. I’ll leave my phone on. And Mia, your mother loves you. She’s just…’

  I nod and smile as best I can. ‘I know. Thanks, Gerry.’

  When he’s out of sight, I make my way toward the phone booth and step inside. After dialling, I wait a moment, and the emergency services operator comes onto the line.

  ‘Triple Zero. Police, Fire, or Ambulance?’

  ‘Police.’

  ‘Just a moment.’

  I nervously tap my foot and try to swallow, but my throat is dry.

  ‘Police, what’s your emergency?’

  ‘I need to report a body.’

  ‘Hold please.’

  Hold? Really?

  A couple of moments later, a man’s voice comes onto the line. ‘New South Wales Police. Can I start with your full name?’

  ‘A girl’s body is located in the north-east field of Willow’s Crossing in Wildling. The property owner is Jack Stanton. Looks like she’s been there a few days.’

  Before he can respond, I quickly hang up the phone. Even though I have winter gloves on, I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is watching, then take a small packet of wet wipes out of my pocket. I wipe down the receiver and keypad, then tuck the packet away.

  Seeing Gerry was unfortunate, but he’s always had my back, even with Mum. Hopefully, if worse comes to worst, I can trust him to understand.

  I climb back into the car and pull the door shut with a thud. I glance in the rear-vision mirror at the space where Koda usually sits and regret my decision not to bring him. It's too quiet without him, and even though he can’t give me any advice, sometimes just talking to him calms my nerves.

  I start the car, eager to get home and put this entire situation behind me. Even Jack can’t control the state police. I did the right thing. Now all I have to do is figure out how to get the faces of two dead girls out of my mind.

  Chapter Sixteen

  HER name is Hazel Smith. She was sixteen.

  News of her name broke yesterday, and by late afternoon, the entire town was buzzing with reporters from Canberra and Sydney, all of them trying to find different angles and opportunities to talk with members of Wildling’s First Nations community.

  I scroll the news sites, looking for anything new about the case. It must be driving reporters crazy that no one will speak. Having grown up here, I know that when a member of their mob dies, the community enters an official mourning period and refuses to say the name of the person or display images of them for a year. They believe that if they do, it will disrupt the spirit’s journey, preventing it from reaching the ancestral realm where passed loved ones will be waiting.

  Without access to family members or information from police, all the journalists have to report on is Hazel’s name, age, and that she was missing for four days before being found in a shallow grave on Willow’s Crossing. Thankfully, there’s been no mention of who called the report in, only that an anonymous source reported the gruesome discovery.

  At home, though, it’s another story.

  ‘Are you coming back tonight?’ I ask Will, as I cradle the phone against my shoulder and try not to trip over Koda.

  ‘I should be home by eight.’

  ‘Eight?’ I pour hot water into the mug and stir my coffee. ‘Why so late?’

  ‘Because, Mia, Mondays are hectic, and I have a late meeting with Jess to get the final tick of approval for your brother’s project.’

  ‘You can’t do that during work hours?’ I hear Sophie’s voice in my mind. Well, everyone in town thinks Will’s having an affair.

  ‘There are no ordinary hours here. Everyone works when they need to.’

  ‘Do you spend a lot of time with her?’

  I glance around our kitchen and see him standing by the sink, hanging the yellow-and-white check curtains we bought together on Main Street. Over by the stovetop, holding out the ladle to let me taste his Bolognese sauce. In the hallway, helping me clean up the tattered remnants of an old paperback Koda chewed to pieces when he was a puppy.

  ‘What?’ He sighs, and I imagine him shaking his head at how stupid I sound. ‘Look, just let me get through this meeting, okay? And, Mia, when I get home, we need to talk.’

  The spoon clicks against the side of the mug as I stop stirring. ‘What about?’

  ‘You know what about.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘No, about what happened on the weekend.’

  Jason must have told him. It doesn’t surprise me. Will would hate that I went out there, putting myself and Koda in a dangerous situation. He would also hate knowing what might happen if Jack and Herm found out it was me who called it in.

  ‘Right. It’s been a circus in town ever since,’ I tell him. ‘Journalists from all over the place are here trying to get a story about it.’

  ‘Have you seen Jason?’

  ‘Not since I told him—’

  ‘Stop talking,’ he snaps. ‘We’re on the phone.’

  I hold my breath and wait for him to speak again. When he does, he says, ‘I’m really disappointed in you, Mia. What you did was stupid. I just… I don’t even know what you think sometimes. Anyway, I’ll speak to you about it tonight, all right?’

  My first reaction is to tell him I’m sorry. The second is to explain myself. But before I can do either, the phone goes dead, and just like that, Will is gone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Juniper

  I NEVER thought I’d be heading back to Wildling. Especially not this soon and certainly not with my career hanging by a frayed byline. My entire life, all I ever dreamed of was getting out of there. I hated being stuck in a small town. Even as a kid, I knew what I wanted – to be a journalist. To travel and meet people. To tell their stories and see the world. And I could. My parents told me as much as soon as I was old enough to understand.

  Junie Bug, you can be anything and anyone you want. You’re so special. There’s nothing you can’t do.

  Sydney was supposed to be my way out. I’d traded cow-town quiet for newsroom chaos, swapped snow boots for stilettos and thought I’d make it. As it turned out, my grand arrival barely caused the city to blink.

  I pull into a sprawling petrol station on the side of the freeway that looks more like a mini-city than a place to put petrol in the car. As I crack the door open, the air outside feels heavy and damp. I tug my jacket tighter and whisper a quiet thank-you to myself for choosing jeans instead of the skirt I had out this morning. At the bowser, I watch the numbers flick by and try to ignore the delicious smell of greasy hot chips wafting over from the roadhouse. One car over, a middle-aged man with an oversized forehead and a woman in the passenger seat glance at me and smirk. I turn away and sigh. I know what they're thinking, but they're wrong. In the past year, I’ve lost count of how many times strangers have stopped me on the street in Sydney, believing I’m Margot Robbie or Delta Goodrem. I’m never quite sure how to react to their disappointment when I tell them I’m just me - Juniper Davis. No one special or important. I guess I could take it as a compliment, but it’s also kind of depressing to watch someone’s shoulders slump because of all the people you’re not.

  I finish filling up my car and shiver from the cold. The Wildling exit is still an hour away, and already I can feel a bite in the air – the one that tells me there’s snow on the mountain. I’ve only driven a few hours, but there’s no denying how far I am from my life in Sydney.

  When I asked my boss, Sydney Daily editor Lisa Knight, for time off to come home and deal with my teenage sister, initially, she refused. In her opinion, I should be spending every waking moment at my desk trying to make amends for single-handedly almost destroying the paper’s reputation.

  It happened six months ago when, after writing fluff piece after fluff piece about celebrities and fundraisers, I stumbled across a wiry rodent of a man called Stefano Kutsinoff in a bar just a few blocks from work. He had a missing front tooth and beady eyes that never stopped darting around the room. At first, he’d tried to hit on me, but when he realised I was a journalist, his entire demeanour changed. He leaned in close but wouldn’t look at me. He shifted in his seat, this way and that, like something was trying to crawl out from underneath him.

  It hadn’t taken much prompting, and with just a little encouragement, he spent the next two hours telling me about a former underworld bikie who he knew for a fact was behind the murder of a high-ranking Kings Cross police officer who was dirty and on the take. After one more drink, he confided in me that he feared he was next in line because he knew too much.

  I’d thought it was my lucky break. I told him that maybe we could help. If I wrote a story, they couldn’t kill him. It would look too obvious. I asked if I could attribute quotes to him, and I guess after too many beers and the misguided hope it might save his arse, he said I could. The next day, it was our front-page story. It was the best morning of my life. By the afternoon, he had reneged, and the cashed-up bikie group sent their lawyers after the paper.

  Buzz around the office was that my head was on the chopping block, but then Lilly Daniels was found dead, and the remains of Hazel Smith were discovered on Willow’s Crossing. Lisa knows Wildling is my hometown. She also knows that under no circumstances do I want to go digging around investigating the people I grew up with. But last night, she made it painfully clear that if I want any sort of career, I’ve got one chance. Go to Wildling. Get the real story. Or don’t come back. She called it paying my dues. I call it punishment disguised as opportunity. Either way, here I am, driving straight back into the one story I thought I’d escaped.

  A few kilometres from Wildling, the divider markers turn from white to yellow – an indication that snow and ice can sometimes cover sections of road. A warning there could be danger ahead.

  Not much further now.

  I stiffen at the thought of seeing my sister, Britt. She’s always been so rebellious, seeking out attention for all the wrong reasons. I’ve never been able to understand her. It’s like she wants to make her life as difficult as possible. Getting herself into trouble with the police, dropping out of school, and hanging out with Lilly Daniels, who everyone knew was bad news. Mum thinks if I come home and show her that playing by the rules pays off, it will eventually get her out of Wildling and into a different life. One that doesn’t get cut short like Lilly’s. That’s how it started anyway. I left out telling her the part about coming back to try and save my job.

  In spring, the cherry blossoms that grow along my parents’ street bloom with beautiful pink and white flowers. It’s impossible not to smile when you see them, but today the trees are skeletal and bare. The delicate flowers are long gone, leaving only a network of twisted limbs reaching up against a pale grey sky. I sigh as I drive past, their barren branches making me even more miserable.

  ‘Come on, Junie,’ I whisper to myself. ‘Get it together. The flowers will make a comeback, and so will you. Just give it time.’

  I pull into the driveway and turn off the car. My parents’ home is like a lot of the houses in Wildling – a charming cottage painted in soft cream with dark green shutters and a cobblestone path. I open the car door and am immediately enveloped by the scent of eucalyptus and wood smoke drifting over from the neighbours’ fireplaces. Behind the houses, the towering mountain range leans in like a room full of relatives gathered to welcome me home.

  When I push open the front door and step inside, the first thing I hear is the fire crackling and popping in the hearth. The second is the familiar creak of the loose floorboard Dad always says he’s going to fix but never does.