Page 18 of The Dysfunctional Family's Guide to Murder
Sasha looks disconcerted by the idea that GG’s been talking about him, but after a beat he nods. “Yeah.” The smell of him is filling the room, earthy and maybe just a tiny bit like manure, but the way manure smells when you go to a riding stable: wholesome and fresh. Actually, it’s entirely possible the smell is coming from his boots and quite literallyismanure.
“That’s so good of you,” Aunty Vinka says.
Dad, at least, remembers my existence. “This is my daughter, Ruth, and my nephew, Dylan.”
We both mumble something that probably starts with anh.Sasha doesn’t shake my hand, but he gives me a big grin that would definitely convince some wannabe reality star to move to an isolated farm in Western Australia for him.
“What do we owe you?”
“Nothing. I just wasn’t sure if you’d be able to get out to the shops with everything going on.”
Nobody mentions that GG’s cupboard and freezer are stocked like she was an apocalypse prepper. Which…maybe she was? I haven’t seen any signs of a shotgun collection or a water purifier, but I haven’t done much in the way of snooping. Maybe she was part of an apocalyptic prepping group and one of them lost their mind and crept up to her window one nightand…
“How long are you sticking around here for?” Sasha asks, and the grown-ups all swap looks.
“We’re not sure,” Aunty Vinka says. “My partner had an, uh,accident and he’s in the local hospital here, so between that and the police investigation, we might be here for a few days.”
“Well, I’m nearby if you need anything. The farm’s tricky to get to—few too many gates—but I can give you my phone number.”
“Our phones don’t work here,” Dad says.
“What about the landline?”
“Broken.”
“Gertie’s cell, too?”
“Some issue with a bill, apparently.”
“I forgot about that. You know you can get reception further out in the paddocks even if you’re not with Telstra, right?”
“Yep, that’s what we’ve been doing. Can we—do you want a coffee or anything before you go?”
“I don’t want to trouble you.”
“It’s no trouble.”
“Then, sure. I’ve got fifteen minutes before I need to be anywhere.”
Dad makes the coffee while Aunty Bec and Aunty Vinka settle in to interrogate our hot neighbor. They wouldn’t put it that way—they’d say they’re just being polite and making chat—but it’s an interrogation. I don’t mind. I’m grateful. I mean, this hottie just turns up out of the blue and he lives next doorandnone of us have ever met him before? Hello, prime suspect, so nice to meet you. All I’m missing is a motive, and how hard can that be? Maybehe’sa secret prepper too and the two of them—
“How long have you lived next door?”
“Not long, but my family’s been in the area for a while.”
“Do they still live nearby?”
“No, I’m afraid they’ve all passed away.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s hard work, farming.” Sasha meets my eyes and smiles, and I can’t not smile back, even as I’m now a little fixated on the idea that his entire family could have died in some kind of horrific farming accident. I sense, rather than see, Dylan looking at me.
“It sure is,” Dad says, like he doesn’t spend his working days in an air-conditioned office arguing with people who are paid to stop politicians telling anyone what they really think. He hands Sasha a coffee without asking if he wants milk or sugar.
“We’re going to be making funeral arrangements soon,” Aunty Vinka says, which is a thing I haven’t thought about. “I don’t really know who Gertie was close with in town. Is there anyone you think we should reach out to?”
Sasha looks like he’s considering it.
