Blood Junction Read Free

…”
    “Your grandfather? What’s his name?”
    “Tremain. Edward Tremain.”
    Ahead, a flock of crows blackened the corpse of a kangaroo in the middle of the road. As they approached, three birds lumbered
     heavily into the air but the remainder hopped away a short distance to return the instant they had passed.
    “Don’t know any Tremains, sorry.”
    It didn’t surprise her. She wasn’t certain she believed Lauren anyway, considering both her maternal grandparents had been
     dead for thirty years.
    The Commodore rattled and jarred as they crossed a bridge. Beneath were reaches of red and yellow sand but no water, not even
     a damp puddle. India asked Tiger how often it rained and wasn’t surprised when he told her cheerfully virtually never, and
     went on to inform her that Cooinda was the second hottest town in New South Wales, after his home town, Tibooburra.
    They were discussing the pros and cons of air-conditioning versus ceiling fans when Cooinda came into view. She could see
     rows of iron roofs, television aerials, a handful of satellite dishes, a white tower with a big black clock. Soon they were
     driving down streets lined with fibro houses with picket fences. The houses looked fairly new, but the paint had already blistered
     from the doors and windowsills. Every other building had a ute parked outside.
    They reached the main street, called appropriately Main Street. Although the street was flat and very wide—you could have
     turned a road-train in one sweep—its bitumen was unkempt and dotted with potholes that were full of grit and gravel. They
     passed a supermarket, a post office, a cafe and milk bar, a hardware and sporting store, a hairdressing salon and a dress
     shop. The dress shop had two headless dummies in its window, both sporting identical floral sleeveless cotton dresses, one
     in red and blue, the other yellow and green.
    Bond Street, eat your heart out,
she thought.
At least my credit card will be safe here. I shall look forward to my New Year’s statement when I’ll owe Visa zero.
    Tiger slowed as he approached the crossroads, then he pulled up outside the Royal Hotel, switched off the ignition. “See if
     your friend’s still there. I’ll call Reg Douglas. Get your car towed in tonight.”
    She tried to open the door, but it was stuck. Tiger leaped out and strode around to release it for her. “Sorry,” he said.
     “Look, if your friend’s not there, I’ll drive you on to the Goodmans’. I’ve got to go pretty much past their doorway anyway.”
    India thanked him and raced for the hotel. Excitement fizzed through her at the thought of Lauren being there. God, it was
     twelve months since they’d last seen each other. Twelve months too long. As she burst through the swing doors, the noise level
     instantly dropped ten decibels. She paused, gazed around. The Royal was a typical Australian pub with its horseshoe bar, pool
     table, poker machines, wide-screen TV bracketed to the wall and unashamedly curious stares reserved for strangers.
    India ignored the stares as she scanned the room, felt her smile slip. She told herself to stop being stupid. Would she have
     waited half the day here for Lauren? Yes, she would. So India checked the restrooms and asked the bar staff if they’d seen
     a five foot four, slim strawberry blonde.
    The barmaid straightened up from emptying the dishwasher and turned around. India surveyed a massive spread of wobbling flesh.
     The woman resembled a giant roll of uncooked sausage meat, and great dark patches of sweat stained her clothes.
    “You India Kane?” she said.
    “Yes.”
    “I’m Debs.”
    The woman put her pudgy hand out. They shook. Debs’s hand was slippery with sweat and India restrained herself from wiping
     her palm on her jeans afterwards.
    “Your friend had to meet some bloke out of town. Said she’d see you at the ranch.”
    India thanked her. She stood there for a minute, wondering who the bloke could be. She rested her