Outback Secrets by Rachael Johns

Chapter Thirty-four

Two days to go. Forty-eight hours until Liam could shut the pub and retreat into himself. It couldn’t go fast enough. For the first time ever, he was thinking that maybe he’d take an extra couple of days on top of Christmas, get away from Bunyip Bay and go camp someplace with Sheila where he could really clear his head. The fresh air and peace and quiet would be good for the dog as well. Janet could take care of the paying guests and Macca, Lara and Dylan could handle the pub. Or he could just close and give everyone a proper vacation. He hadn’t quite decided yet. Decisions were just another thing that felt too hard right now.

The only person who’d really be put out by him closing was Rex, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing for him to go dry for a few days.

These were the thoughts going through Liam’s head when Logan Knight came into the pub, alone, just after six o’clock on Wednesday night.

‘Evening, Castle.’ Logan tipped an invisible hat as he approached the bar. He didn’t acknowledge Rex as he claimed a space two stools away from him. People rarely did; he seemed to blend into the background.

‘Knight,’ Liam said. ‘On your own today?’

‘Yeah, Frankie’s watching Christmas rom-coms while she does the books. I thought I’d take a walk, get some fresh air.’

Liam didn’t blame Logan. He couldn’t think of anything worse than paperwork and rom-coms. Especially Christmas ones. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Yeah …’ Logan squinted as he looked behind the bar to the row of bottles. It was clear he was struggling to make out the labels and Liam fought the impulse to help him as he knew he wanted to hold onto as much independence as he could. ‘Actually, I’ll just have a pint of lager, thanks.’

‘Coming right up.’ He grabbed a glass and began to pour.

‘Good day?’ Logan asked, drumming his fingers on the bar. He looked at Liam with a weird, slightly smug expression—as if he knew something that Liam didn’t.

‘Not really.’ It had been almost impossible to drag himself out of bed this morning. If not for Sheila needing to be exercised and fed, he probably wouldn’t have bothered. Not that she seemed to be interested in either, which is why he’d forced himself up and taken her to the vet, for her annual shots but also to see if there was anything else wrong with her. Sally had listened as he relayed the dog’s symptoms—‘she’s lethargic, off her food, doesn’t want to go for a walk’—and then he’d paid a fortune on all manner of tests. She’d called him just before he’d opened the pub to say that although she was still waiting on one test, the rest had come back clear, but she suspected she knew what the problem was.

‘Apparently Sheila might have depression and have to see a pet psychologist.’

He’d expected Logan to laugh at this—it was certainly the only thing that Liam had found funny over the past four days. No, not funny. There was nothing funny about depression, but he’d never known animals could suffer it too.

Instead, Logan whistled, ‘Ooh, that sounds pricey. One of Frankie’s cats had to have a tooth out last month and it almost broke us.’

Liam shrugged—money was the least of his problems.

‘You told anyone else?’

‘No.’ Why would he? The last few days his staff had been steering clear of him as much as they could—he’d overheard Dylan telling Lara that he was acting like a grumpy bear and her saying Dylan should cut him some slack because he was still cut up over Henri. Had there ever been a more apt description than ‘cut up’? It was exactly how he felt—as if someone had come along and chopped his body into little pieces, yet still expected it to function normally.

‘Well, people that come in here love Sheila—she’s like the Red Dog of Bunyip Bay.’

Liam couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow—Red Dog belonged to the Pilbara and roamed freely, whereas Sheila was very much his dog and never went for a walk without him.

‘You could put a tin right here on the bar …’ Logan slapped it with his hand. ‘Ask everyone to throw in their change for Sheila’s psych fees. All adds up, you know.’

‘I don’t need handouts.’

‘No.’ Logan grinned and lifted his glass to his mouth. ‘I don’t think you do, do you?’

Heat crept up Liam’s neck. He had an awful feeling the journalist’s visit wasn’t purely social. He glanced along the bar, looking for someone to serve but there was only a couple at the other end and Dylan had them covered.

‘Can I get you another drink?’ he asked, even though Logan had barely touched the first one. ‘Or something to eat? Parmies are Deal of the Day. Or a burger? Everyone likes Macca’s burgers. But there’s plenty of other options. Vegetarian even?’

Logan’s smirk grew at Liam’s babbling. He lowered his glass to the bar. ‘Maybe later. There’s something I’d like to run by you first?’

‘Oh?’ It came out high-pitched, like a little girl had said it.

‘Yeah. So, you know how I’ve been researching for a podcast episode about all the mystery gifts and donations that have been happening for years in town?’

Liam couldn’t bring himself to nod but it was clearly a rhetorical question anyway.

‘Well,’ Logan continued, decent enough to keep his voice down, ‘I’ve listed all the incidents that have occurred, right back to what I believe to be the very first nine years ago—a Bali holiday for Jane and Steve Morgan after she had a stillbirth—and I’ve finally worked out what the common link between them all is.’

Logan paused and Liam wasn’t sure whether it was dramatically for effect or because he was waiting for a confession. He certainly wasn’t going to give the game away until he was completely certain the journalist was barking up the right tree.

‘Well, are you going to enlighten me?’ Liam asked, shrugging one shoulder as if he were only mildly interested.

‘I think you already know that the common factor is that every single person or organisation who has been blessed by our mysterious benefactor has, in the days or weeks leading up to the event, had a drink or a meal or come in for a meeting, right here. In The Palace. Your pub.’

Liam’s insides turned to ice. He had to steady himself on the bar as Logan’s smile grew so wide you could see the tiny gaps between his teeth.

‘I guess the game’s up.’

Both Liam and Logan turned to look at Rex who had just uttered those five words.

Logan blinked and shook his head slightly as if seeing the other man for the first time. ‘Where’d you come from?’

‘So, what are you going to do now?’ Rex asked, ignoring Logan’s question. ‘Interview me on the radio? Write an article about me? Do you need a head shot?’ He palmed his hands against his face and turned it slowly from side to side. ‘Which is my best angle, do you reckon?’

‘Why would I need a photo of you?’ Logan said.

‘Because I’m the mysterious benefactor,’ Rex replied, jabbing his thumb into his chest and speaking in a tone that suggested Logan wasn’t altogether right in the head. ‘Isn’t that what we’re talking about?’

‘You!?’ Liam and Logan exclaimed in unison.

‘You’re the mysterious benefactor?’ Logan added as Liam struggled to contain the laughter bubbling inside him.

Rex sighed. ‘That’s what I said, isn’t it? For a journalist, you’re pretty slow to catch on. Who the hell did you think it was?’

‘I …’ Logan looked at Liam, then back at Rex; he appeared to be stumped for words.

Lara came up beside Liam. ‘What’s all the excitement over here?’

‘You know the mysterious benefactor?’ he said.

‘No. I thought that was the whole thing about a mystery—no one does know.’

‘Well, it’s a mystery no more.’

Lara’s eyes widened. ‘Who is it?’

Still grinning, Liam pointed to Rex, who beamed at the bartender.

‘No way! Where’d you get all your cash?’ Lara asked the question that Logan still seemed too shocked to ask.

Rex shrugged, nursed his beer in his grubby hands and told them exactly where.

By the time he’d finished his story, a crowd had gathered around the bar and Logan had recovered enough to interrupt with specific questions and take copious notes. For a man who usually disappeared into the furniture, being the centre of attention made Rex sit taller and hold his head higher.

Later, when Logan had finally gone off to type up his article and the crowd had dispersed, Rex pulled out a scruffy wallet that was barely holding itself together with a few loose threads to pay his tab.

Liam held up his hand and shook his head. ‘Your drinks are on me,’ he said with a wink. ‘Tonight, and always.’