The Tying of Threads by Joy Dettman Page B

on Georgie’s eyebrow. He’s not denying that the spanner and tape belonged to him, but claims that King lived with him off and on for years and that she’d picked up the tape and spanner from his cabin.’
    ‘He was driving her car when he crashed.’
    ‘He’s got a story to cover that too and two blokes who’ll swear in court that they gave him a lift up to Woody Creek the previous day, that he’d been drinking with them out at the commune the night the infant was taken. Collins claims that King turned up at his door at dawn, begging him to give her another chance. Did Georgie see him at the house?’
    ‘She heard Raelene call his name. Dino. Raelene always called him Dino.’
    ‘You know he broke a couple of bones in his neck?’ Jack said.
    ‘The papers said he had spinal injuries.’
    ‘He’s in a wheelchair. They say he could be in it for life – which will get him the sympathy vote with the jury.’
    ‘They won’t let him off, will they?’
    ‘It depends on who gets picked on the day – and I’d better get going. Mum has got a doctor’s appointment.’
    That day, Jenny made her own appointment with Jim’s solicitors, and the following Monday morning she and Jim drove together to Willama where Jenny told a condensed tale of the fire, the shop, then offered Georgie’s note.
    The solicitor glanced at it, glanced at the rental agreement, asked his receptionist to make photocopies of both then asked if they’d reported their daughter missing.
    ‘She’s not missing while she’s still cashing cheques,’ Jenny said.
    He said he’d get back to them. Jenny told him she hoped it would be soon, then they walked down to the Commonwealth Bank to ask for Georgie’s current bank statement. The teller couldn’t give them a statement, nor could the manager, but he told them one would be posted.
    In October, Butterfly Kingdom was released. They found half a dozen copies of it in one of the bookshops and one each of their earlier books. Butterfly Kingdom was as magical as the rest.
    Amy had become the face behind their fairytales, the others more than content to hide behind her. Jim and John walked out to the street, Jenny wandered down to the adult fiction shelves where she chose a book, because the redhead on the cover reminded her of Georgie. Rusty , by C.J. Langhall.
    Rusty. The first time Georgie had crawled over to investigate Charlie White’s bootlaces, he’d named her Rusty, and in the years she’d worked for him, he’d never called her anything else – except in his will. He’d named her as his major beneficiary and no one in town had wondered why. She’d mothered him during his final years, along with managing his shop.
    C.J. Langhall. Jenny mouthed the name, which for some reason sounded familiar, and it couldn’t have been familiar. Rusty was the author’s debut novel. She glanced at the rear cover, which occasionally gave you an idea of what you’d find in the book.
    Archie Fleet, a gambling man, lives a subsistence life in a crumbling farmhouse with Rusty, his sixteen-year-old granddaughter. When Archie’s daughter, who for fifteen years he’s believed dead, is arrested for the murder of her in-laws, Archie learns he has two younger granddaughters, one raised by the wealthy in-laws, and one by her drug addict mother.
    Archie Fleet reminded Jenny of Archie Foote, and she wanted to read about him and his granddaughters. She bought the book, Amy stopped talking, and they drove home to a letterbox half full of mail, one letter informing Jennifer Hooper that she’d be required to give evidence at the trial of James Collins, due to commence in the final week of November.
    She’d argued about attending court the last time a similar letter had arrived. She’d had a good excuse. Trudy, maybe thirteen at the time, had been home from school with hepatitis. As if courts gave a damn. They’d sent her another letter, a subpoena which had forced her to present herself at a given time, at a given