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“Police came by the cellar door earlier,” I said flatly, clipping the shears back to my belt. “Said someone lit a fire with an accelerant. They used petrol for the four-wheelers, they think. Spread quickly.”
“Arson?” Dad asked, scrutinising a blackened stump.
“Yes.”
“They’ve been talking about an arsonist in the area since that bushfire with Stacey and the doctor’s brother.”
I nodded, watching him poke at another vine with his cane. “They’re all lost. I’ll bulldoze the rows today or tomorrow. Police said they don’t need to do anything more here.”
Dad nodded and then smiled. “But lucky for us, we have Tom. He is a good boy.”
“Excuse me?”
Dad narrowed his eyes. “He spends time with me while planting his vines. The vines are young but they should have a good harvest this summer if his dam doesn’t run dry.”
“What do you mean ‘plantinghisvines’?”
“Last year of high school, he planted an acre as his project. We talked. I mentor. He listen. And then he added more vines to more acres. Runs sheep through the rows to fertilise, like what they do in Italy. His dam is spring fed and hasn’t run dry. Close but always has some water. He likes listening to Angelo.”
“Does he now?” My head pounded. A stiff wind blew over the charred ground, sending up an ashy breeze. “Is this your way of saying that the sheep farmer next door is a better vineyard manager than me?”
“I’m saying he listen to Angelo.” He frowned. “You didn’t know Tom grew grapes?”
“I do listen to you, Dad. And I’m hearing you loud and clear right now.”
Jealousy and anger pulsed from my chest. Tears pricked my eyes. If it wasn’t enough to have been betrayed by Richard’s infidelity in the most public way, then I had to discover Tom has gone behind my back growing grapes with my father.
What was this about? To prove he was better than me at my life’s work?
Tom had planted grapes for an Ag Studies project in high school. How could he possibly have acres of grapes?
I took several deep breaths and mounted the four-wheeler, revving the engine.
“Where are you going?” my father called out.
I threw my answer over my shoulder before driving off. “Time to confront my enemy.”
I strode into the vineyard office to find my keys for the ute, startling Anthea. She held up both hands in the universal sign for ‘I come in peace’. “I know you didn’t need more on your plate after last night, but have you had a chance to ask the Turners why they sold their lamb to the pub instead of us?”
“What?” I found some more painkillers as well as my keys on my desk, along with a shopping bag I didn’t recognise. “But we always have their lamb in our restaurant. We made an order before the new chef started to make sure we had supply with the mobile butcher.”
“Yeah, I thought we had too. But I was checking our supplies yesterday and there’s no lamb in the cold room.”
Another thing to add to the list of ‘WTF with Tom Turner’.
Anthea shrugged. “Chef said something about changing the menu going into winter and removing the lamb ragu and I thought it was weird.”
I stared at her for a full three seconds. I swore loudly and grabbed my keys for the ute.
“Where is he?” I yelled, storming into the kitchen of the Turner’s homestead where Ryan and Stacey were eating cereal. “Is he here?”
Ryan jumped. “Who?”
Stacey merely pointed to the shearers’ quarters with her spoon. I nodded and turned on the spot. “I, ah, thank you from our family for what you and the crew did last night, Ryan,” I mumbled.
Ryan gave me a single nod. “All good.”
I nodded again, flew out their back door and headed to the shearers’ quarters.
