The Property Manager: You'll never rent again... Read online

  I pulled up behind your Camry. Your front door was open and you had obviously gone inside. I gave a tentative rap on the wood and called out your name.

  “Come in,” you called. “I’m in the kitchen.”

  I took a deep breath and walked slowly, drinking in the environment you had created for yourself. Looking around, scanning and taking mental photographs, I noted that you have a real flair for interior decorating. Your furniture looked beautiful. Bold blue couches and medieval tapestry on the walls. I turned into the dining/kitchen area. You had a bowl of oranges on the table. That was a nice touch. You were drinking a glass of water at the sink. You showed me that the gas was not working on your stovetop and I nodded.

  “I’ll go and take a look at the outside box.”

  As I walked past the refrigerator I noticed a little golden, plastic Academy Award reading “Best Mother,” protruding and presumably held on with a magnet. I laughed and pointed.

  “That’s cute.”

  “I really thought I’d win one, one day.” You sighed melodramatically.

  I smiled back at you.

  “You’ve done a nice job with the house. I knew it would suit you.”

  It took two minutes to relight the pilot light and return the switches to ‘on’. I glanced down to where I had been crouched last night and smiled to myself at the memory of your soapy body. You thanked me and that was that.

  You paid your rent before I had a chance to mention your arrears, so the whole gas charade had been quite pointless. But I did have fun along the way.

  It’s nearly midnight now and I’ve just had a shower. I wanted to see how your dinner went with the Cox family, so I parked a few doors down the road from them and watched in the rear view mirror as you knocked on their door with a bottle of wine at seven-thirty. You didn’t take the boys and obviously left the oldest boy in charge. I don’t know if I like you going out at night without leaving a responsible adult at home.

  I got out and walked down through the vacant block beside their house. They have a large dog so I was playing it safe. I could see the shadow of the creature sitting by the appalling fence that Mr Cox had erected. It was a complete disaster with rickety posts and a chaotic mess of chicken wire strung up. The dog didn’t move and I got close enough that I could hear his panting. Not much of a guard dog, despite his size. I imagine he’s one of those gentle giants that would sooner lick you to death than bite.

  I could hear nothing from inside and the house is set quite high so I could see nothing of interest either. Quite a time-wasting exercise so I went back to the car and after a time drifted of to sleep. Fortunately I heard your engine start up. It would have been far from amusing to wake up stiff-necked with the sunrise. Unlikely, as I’m a terribly light sleeper. A borderline insomniac.

  You must have had a good time because you didn’t drive away from there until 11:40 pm. You might have had a few too many wines as well because you pretty much drove straight over the mini round-about in Hill Street. Don’t do that again please. It’s a twenty minute walk to your friends’ place. If you are ever invited back, I would prefer that you walk. I don’t want you to plough into a tree. For my sake and that of your children, don’t drive after drinking!

  I didn’t follow you home but saw you turn into your street. You couldn’t do much damage, from that point, other than driving into your front door.

  I’m going to bed. I wonder what you think of the necklace. It should’ve arrived today.

  Kisses blown your way.

  24/06/05 Thursday

  I’m just home from work. A long day. I have taken tomorrow off work so I can bring my mother home from hospital. The old duck has made a good recovery. I’ll settle her in at home and organize the Blue Nurses to come to the house and wash her and check her scalp for any sign of infection. I might stay overnight and do some shopping in Sydney.

  I’m feeling a bit flat. I wonder if you were hung-over this morning. You were late to work. I couldn’t see either of your older sons at the bus stop so perhaps you all had a bleary start this morning. They probably had a late night because they had no adult to tell them to go to bed. Tut. Tut. Let’s not make a habit of that, eh, Grace?

  Did you hear all the sirens this afternoon? I was showing a house in Smith Street to a pleasant young couple when the commotion began. Coming back into town I noted quite a few police cars and wagons milling about the police station and two ambulances screamed past me, heading south. I asked a few of the shop keepers if they knew what it was all about. No one knew anything. Back in the office I started ringing to confirm details on the application form for Smith Street when one ambulance screamed back the other way, siren blaring and lights flashing. A forensic van drove south, slowly. It was becoming obvious to everyone in the main street that something quite serious was going on. I didn’t see you emerge from the surgery once. Perhaps you did when I wasn’t looking.

  That’s the phone. I’ll be back.

  That was Jill Buxton ringing to impart some gossip. At this stage people are sewing snippets of information together and everyone is ending up with a different garment.

  What she has heard from a pretty reliable source, is that a young girl about twelve was found stabbed to death at the Sunrise Look-Out at the beginning of the National Park – less than a kilometre from town. Another girl was found a little further down the track. She was still alive but barely. Can you believe it? No one has heard if they are local girls or not. It would be a terrible thing for this tight-knit community if they were. Either way it’s terrible. The poor families involved. How could anyone recover from that?

  Jill is in a terrible flap. Her girls are ten and twelve and it’s very possible that the girls could be friends or classmates. Everyone is frantically ringing around checking up on every young girl. The police are not giving any information out. One can only assume they were sexually assaulted. That’s generally the motive when young girls are involved. You would have heard this on the grapevine already I presume. Your friend Jenny is a bit of a town crier, I believe. She’s also good friends with our local policewoman.

  The Buxtons have invited me down to The Thistle Inn for dinner. As I don’t really have plans, I accepted their invitation. I’m getting a bit sick of these four walls. There will be the usual low-lifes in the public bar and those not so conversationally-challenged in the lounge. The food there is fairly good. I feel like roast lamb.

  I just watched the local news to see what they had to report but Jill was more informative than the media.

  I’m feeling quite relaxed and calm tonight. Probably because I’m off to the city tomorrow and I might kick back and take in a show or something like that. I’d ask you along but I don’t want to rush you and I’m not entirely sure what my strategy to woo you is just yet.

  Did you get my gift? You’ll be wracking your brain trying to figure out who your admirer is. I don’t think I’ve done anything to give it away. You will be looking at every male patient in a different light now, won’t you?

  I’m sure the hotel will be packed as it always is after a local drama. It’s a comfort for the community to group together. I suppose people feel safer in a crowd.

  25/06/05 Friday. Early morning. Still dark.

  We’re getting closer, Grace. Do you feel it? I just had to set down on paper how I feel this morning before I head off in the car to pick up my mother.

  Did you have a nice time last night? It was wonderful to see you.

  We have officially supped together now. I sat across the table from you and completely lost my appetite. Love does that to you. You were wearing my necklace and it nearly brought tears to my eyes. You looked striking in your black high-necked jumper and well- fitted black pants. It was a plain canvas back-ground for my blue sapphire.

  When I saw you walk into the hotel with your friend, Jenny, I felt paralysed and my breath caught in my throat. I coughed and almost choked. You came straight over to our table, gave me a smile and sat in the empty seat ne
xt to Jill.

  “I suppose you’ve heard the drama?”

  Jill nodded, wide-eyed and asked you if you had any information, after sending her daughters over to the bain-marie.

  Jenny was at the bar ordering a bottle of champagne.

  You huddled closer to Jill and almost whispered.

  “I shouldn’t say much but Dr. John was called to the lookout this afternoon. He got there before the ambulance and treated the girl who was still alive at the scene. I’m not sure who she was, I didn’t recognize the name. But the dead girl was one of the Moorebanks.”

  There was a stunned silence, while we all digested that snippet of information.

  “Shit,” was Jill’s crass response.

  I can’t say I was really surprised. There are lots of Moorebank kids. I can never work out who are siblings and who are cousins. They are a tangled web of DNA - that lot! Slopping about in a murky and very shallow gene pool.

  They are the most neglected, dirty and underfed bunch of mutts I have ever come into contact with.

  Jill told us that the girl was in her eldest daughter’s class at school and she had tears pooling in her eyes.

  I was going to pitch in with a comment like – the only good Moorebank is a dead Moorebank – but bit my tongue knowing it would not be a politically correct thing to say. But I was only thinking what half the town was thinking. Those poor kids would all be better of dead because all they had ahead of them was a lifetime of substance abuse, violence, malnutrition and incarceration.

  Instead I muttered something like “How awful,” or something equally as insincere.

  Jill invited you and your friend to join us for dinner. I was so thrilled that you accepted and I got up and took a chair from the table beside us and added it to the head of ours.

  The dinner went by in a bit of a blur as almost everyone in town came over to the table to put their five cents worth in about the “murder.” Conjecture was rife.

  I see that you’ve integrated yourself into the community well. Everyone seemed to greet you as their best friend.

  We ordered the same meal – roast lamb, although you oddly enough drowned your meat in mint sauce. My palate wouldn’t stand for that.

  What was your take on the evening? I couldn’t help but notice that the whole place was gradually turning into a feeding frenzy over this drama. People got more and more excited by each new piece of information that was thrown into the sea. You were quite restrained and didn’t salivate over the details. I thought that was very sophisticated of you. Perhaps your own memories were re-surfacing.

  After finishing everything on your plate, you gave a wave into the lounge. A few seconds later, the Cox family walked through the door. They stopped at our table and gave me a nod and a ‘hi’ before turning to you.

  “Thanks for dinner, guys.” You said. “How about I return the favour on Friday night. I can’t promise it’ll be edible but….if I get you drunk first you won’t notice.”

  They laughed and accepted your invitation before taking a table on the other side of the room. They were the only people not to mention the “murder.”

  Over desert you and I managed to have a deep discussion on the frailty of human life. We discussed my mother’s accident. I confused myself a bit because I’d already broached that subject with you in this journal. You are an intelligent woman with some very unusual but valid philosophical points of view. I was surprised to find that your hobby is studying theology. You laughed and said you could have written “The Da Vinci Code” with your eyes shut.

  And I laughed back and said –“Why didn’t you?”

  “Because I’m the world’s greatest procrastinator.”

  I could see that you really meant it and you looked a little bit sad.

  “Someone once said I could be summed up by two words – wasted potential. That hurt but it is true”

  You changed the subject and we talked about how your children are settling into the schools. Your son, Dan, is now going steady with Karen’s daughter Sofia. And I learned that your middle son, Eli, is a brilliant but emotionally chaotic, artiste! Harry, I’ve met and found charming.

  You are a funny lady. Very quick witted and so optimistic.

  Throughout the evening you drank five glasses of champagne, which probably made you more bubbly than usual if you’ll pardon the pun. I complimented your sapphire and you blushed a little and in a small voice admitted to Jenny and I that it was from a secret admirer. You looked pleased about that. Jenny decided it must have been from a lecherous old patient. You gave me a very quick look. I’m sure I didn’t imagine it. It was a quizzical look. Do you suspect? Do you perhaps hope it is me?

  I would have been a gentleman and offered to drive you home, but I had walked, leaving the car at home. I wasn’t rude enough to ask how you were travelling but as your house is only two blocks away, I assumed you were on foot. I would hope so.

  That’s twice this week that you’ve left the boys at home. I don’t think that is good for them.

  I can now add some characteristics to my profile of you.

  I’ve got everything on your application form. Other than that, I now know you are the widow of a murdered policeman. You have a background in the theatre and a special empathy with children. You have a dazzling sense of humour. You have a flair for interior decorating. You have a scar slashed over your soft belly. I don’t have that story yet. You are drawn to philosophical issues and ponder deeply the human condition. You like champagne…perhaps a little too much. And people gravitate toward you because you are so open and welcoming. You adore your children. You also like mint sauce.

  I lay in bed last night after I got home and was struck by your description of yourself as a chronic procrastinator. I think that is THE something about you that needs fixing. You radiate a rare energy and I feel you are supposed to be someone great, some star….but your confidence and belief in yourself stop just a millimetre from success. You are selling yourself short. I think you are standing on a high precipice looking at the sky longing to fly. What you don’t realize is that we are all standing behind you and can see your beautiful wings. Grace. Have faith…and jump. You could soar so high. I will do all I can to inspire you and give you the kick in the backside that you need.

  Off to Mum’s now.

  26/06/05 Saturday.

  Six o’clock in the evening and it’s a still, crisp evening. The sun is going down quite early and there was a beautiful winter sunset of pinks and oranges. How was your drama group this morning? Jill says you’ve got about ten kids in the group. That’s great and a bit of extra pocket money for you.

  Well I got a lot achieved on my trip to the city. Mother is good and the nurses will stop in on her every day.

  I’ve been shopping and spent a fortune. I want to keep it a surprise at the moment but it does involve you. You see I am still not sure which approach to take with you. I need to know you better. I’m filling in bits of a personality profile but I want to know the YOU that nobody sees. Everyone has a public face and a private one and they are rarely similar. Often times they can be quite incompatible which causes personality disorders. I think you are a balanced woman but for all your visible extroversion I sense another side of the coin. I want to know that other side because that is the person I will woo. If you can tap into someone’s subconscious personality you’re in the driver’s seat.

  Let’s just say a specialist at an electronics store in Strathfield was very helpful and informative. I found his business over the internet and did a bit of research before I went there. I’m not by any means computer illiterate, in fact I’m pretty IT savvy, but this fellow was an absolute genius and he had some fascinating ideas. Anyway, now my wallet is much thinner but my knowledge bank got a big deposit. And I’ll be around at your place soon to do some wiring and installation. I can do it during the day.

  The reason I need to do this is twofold. First – I can’t see you properly peering through windows like some idiotic peeping T
om. I can’t hear you properly and that’s essential to understanding you. I need to see how you interact with your children when no one’s about. Things like that.

  The other reason is that were you or one of the children to stumble upon me, you might not, at this stage understand my honourable motives and that of course would wreck everything.

  I’ve just caught the news and they don’t have a lot more to tell us about the Moorebank murder although it was reported that the girls were cousins. The live one is in a critical condition and not expected to make it through the night. The police are treating the case as a homicide. Well, that’s hardly news is it? Little girls don’t go for a bush walk and fall repeatedly on a carving knife by accident. They didn’t mention whether the girls had been sexually assaulted but the inference was there.

  I guess the great hoo-hah about town will be whether the perpetrator was a local or not.

  You would be busy in the kitchen, preparing for your guests. I’m going to have a shower and eat something and then I might pop by. I wouldn’t mind seeing what sort of a hostess you make. I’m sure whatever you cook will be fine.

  Your friends are behind in their rent, in case you were interested.

  They’re also a bit younger than you. They moved here from Sydney. The neighbours continually complain about their dog who defies that ridiculous fencing system and their place is a bit of a mess, kind of academic-bohemian. She’s an architect or something to that effect. Their application form reveals that he is some kind of music tutor….it was all a bit vague. Their daughter is seven. Her name is Violet. Quite an old-fashioned name that you don’t hear much anymore. I had a great-aunt Violet, I think. I can’t remember if I met her as a child or whether I only remember her from grainy, black and white photographs. The Cox family moved to Babylon from the northern shores of Sydney, six months ago and came with good references – one from a bishop. Not much else.