Eleanor Jones is Playing with Fire, page 1
About the Book
Eleanor Jones isn’t looking for trouble. But someone is starting fires in Cooinda, and the first one looks like a murder. Eleanor’s determined not to get involved, but when she receives a warning to keep quiet ‘or else’, she can’t help but investigate.
Who had motive to commit murder? One of her classmates? A volunteer firefighter? And are the fires connected to the car thefts around town?
Can she discover who is to blame before the entire town goes up in flames?
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Books by Amy Doak
Imprint
Powered by Penguin
For my boys – O & S
– what a privilege it is
to watch you grow into
wise, kind & loving men.
CHAPTER 1
Troy and I haven’t kissed yet, and I’m fairly sure that the house down the road from mine is burning to the ground.
Sorry. That totally sounds like I have my priorities out of whack. Leading with the kiss thing and all. I probably should clarify that I have actually called the fire brigade. I can hear the siren in the distance already. I know Cooinda is a small town, but it seems super quick, and the lady I spoke to on the phone was fairly stressed when I told her the house was on fire and where it was. It makes me wonder how many emergencies they deal with around here on the daily. Of course, I’ve only lived in Cooinda for a few months and so far I have encountered murderers and drug dealers and thieves . . . and, weirdly, I’ve befriended a few of them along the way, but all in all I’d describe Cooinda as fairly small and sleepy.
I’d been waiting for Troy to come over to my place when I smelled the smoke. The road I live on is pretty long. There’s maybe ten or so houses and most of them are on big blocks and set back from the road. My house – well, mine and my mum’s – is the only one not on a big block and it’s also old and rickety, but it’s the first place I’ve lived in that really feels like home. And I’ve lived in a lot of places. We’ve got this cool front verandah, and recently Min – that’s what everyone calls my mum, including me – found an old day bed on Facebook Marketplace and now it lives on said verandah and it’s my new favourite place to sit and read. With the bush right across the road, if you ignore the rusty old playground that gets zero love, I can almost pretend that I’m completely alone in the world. I love that.
But today I was distracted by the smoke. Sometimes, the old bloke who lives at the other end of the street, towards the main road – the guy with the broken-down cars in his front yard, like a bunch of Transformer garden gnomes – collects all the fallen sticks around his house and burns them in a big old drum on a Sunday afternoon and the smell is kind of eucalypt-y and nice . . . Today the smoky smell was different. Super stinky. It had an almost chemical aroma, and when I walked to the end of the driveway to get a closer look, the plume of smoke above the house at the far end of the street was black. Blacker than black. I might be curious to the point that it has gotten me in trouble in the past, but I’m not a complete idiot. I chose not to go and check it out, and instead called triple zero and waited.
Which brings us to the kiss. Or lack thereof. I thought it was a date, you see. When Troy asked me to go to the movies with him two weeks ago, and he made it clear it was just going to be us, but then things were kind of weird and awkward. We went, we watched the movie, and then Barb, who is Troy’s somewhat overbearing and intimidating mum and also the Mayor of Cooinda, picked us up and dropped me home.
Now it’s a fortnight later, and even though we talk every day at school, and we are kind of flirty and touchy, and most nights we video chat with each other and do our homework together – well, you know, silently, but together – or I read and he watches some kind of sport, and it’s all really nice but . . . no kissing.
So, what are we? Friends still? More than friends? Namita and Ethan have both told me that I need to step up and kiss him, because sometimes Troy is painfully polite and maybe he’s waiting for me to greenlight the next stage of, well, whatever this is. That’s why I invited him over today. It’s Sunday. Neither of us has anything on, Min is at work, and I suggested a movie at my place. Technically, this is me making a move, right?
The siren is getting louder, and it sounds chaotic until I hear the familiar bloop of the police siren. It’s not just a fire truck coming then, there’s at least one patrol car.
I know, I know. It’s weird that I know that.
I walk back down the driveway to the street so I can see who is coming. When I turn my head the other way, I gasp. The black smoke has now completely taken over a portion of the sky. I couldn’t see it from the verandah. I was too far back and tucked behind trees. This is . . . a lot. It’s like the world is ending. Even though it would take me a good minute or two to walk to my neighbour’s place, I can feel heat coming from the direction of the fire and it makes me squirm. I remember going to a bonfire, years ago . . . what was that for? Anyway, I know I’d had to stand well back for a really long time, until the heat died down. It’s weird that something intangible can cover so much distance.
I squint, holding my hand up to my forehead to frame my eyes, and try to work out exactly how much of the house is on fire. No other neighbours have emerged. If it wasn’t for the sound of the sirens, I’d feel totally alone. The flames are now dancing along the gutter at one side of the roof, and I can’t seem to tear my eyes away.
The thing that’s really starting to freak me out, and making everything feel like the apocalypse, is the noise. I’m wondering if the fire has sucked every sound out of the atmosphere. No breeze. No squawking birds. There’s a weird quiet, a creepy hush, but it’s not totally silent. A hum is coming from the burning building and then, every so often, a creak and a heavy groan. The fire has a voice and it’s making my skin crawl. Despite the heat, my body gives an involuntary shiver.
Wait, what is that?
My heart begins to race as I think I spot movement in the front window and then a flash of something purple at the side of the house. I’m too far away to be sure, so I take just a few steps closer. The heat really is overwhelming. It looks like there is something, someone, there. What is it? There’s a large picture window across the front of the home and as I focus through the haze I realise that what I can see are flames licking at the curtains.
The glass of the window appears to blister and bubble. It almost looks like that time I accidentally left my glad-wrapped sandwich too close to the hotplate. I wipe my fingers across one eye. That can’t be right. Glass doesn’t crackle and peel. Does it? Apparently it does. I watch as the curtain rod falls across the window and drops to the floor. The combination of the weight of this and the heat of the fire causes the glass of the window to explode, and I jolt with the sound of it shattering.
‘Eleanor!’
I’m so focused on the fury of the fire, I almost don’t hear my name being called. It’s like an echo in the distance but it’s enough to shake me out of the zone I’d fallen into. I turn and see Detective Sergeant Holly Williams climbing out of her car, a light flashing on the dashboard and the car itself a fair distance down my street back towards the main road. Troy is untangling himself from his seatbelt on the passenger side, his door open, and he’s the one who is calling my name. Behind them both, a fire truck is racing down the road. It whizzes past me and skids to a stop in front of the burning building, siren still blaring. The urgency of it all makes me nervous. I run towards Holly and Troy, relieved that someone else is here.
I’m almost at the car when Troy meets me, engulfing me in a giant hug. I can feel his heart racing through his T-shirt.
‘Eleanor!’ His voice is muffled in my hair.
‘I’m fine, it’s fine,’ is all I can think to say.
‘It’s not fine,’ Holly calls out, and when I look up I can see she’s shaking her head at me. ‘Get in the car please, Eleanor.’
It is one hundred per cent an order and I reluctantly pull back from the Troy-hug, confused. He takes my hand and leads me towards the vehicle. ‘Holly was giving me a driving lesson and bringing me out here when the call came through about the fire,’ he explains as we half-walk half-jog. ‘She wouldn’t let me drive with the siren on. We were both
I feel like a total dummy, because I don’t get what the big deal is. Why would they be worried? My mouth is open like a goldfish, and I look to Holly but before I ask anything, she answers me.
‘There hasn’t been a decent rain in Cooinda for over a decade, Eleanor. Your entire street and the bush around it is set to be exceptional kindling for even the smallest of open fires. If the wind picks up, everything within a few kilometres of here will be burned to a crisp within minutes. Can you please get in the car, right now?’
Behind me, I hear the glass of another window shatter and suddenly the heat I could feel earlier seems all the more intense.
I nod and, still holding Troy’s hand tight, we run towards Holly’s car.
CHAPTER 2
The smell is disgusting, but the fire is out. Troy and I are on the day bed on my front porch because, despite the partly chemical, partly campfire-ish aroma, we can’t help but be curious. It’s not every day my street has this much activity.
The fireys are poking around in what’s left of the building, and the police have set up a barricade to stop onlookers coming in for a closer stickybeak. Strange cars have been slowly rolling up and down the street before being turned away by someone in uniform, and with my driveway as the buffer, watching them awkwardly try to turn to get back to the main road has been entertaining. There’s a lot to take in, and I’m pretty sure Troy is as fascinated by it all as I am. It would be wrong to get popcorn though, as much as I’m tempted to.
To one side of my neighbour’s house, the trees are black and there’s almost a solid wall of spindly, leafless trunks. The earlier tension and madness has passed, but I’m starting to appreciate why everyone was so freaked out earlier.
‘I can’t believe how unbothered you were.’ Troy chuckles, and I realise it’s not because he’s impressed with my level of calm. He thinks I’m totally ignorant.
‘I’m not completely clueless,’ I tell him, folding my arms in defiance. ‘I get that fires are a big deal, okay?’
He looks at me and tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling and his lips twitching. He’s trying not to break into full laughter. ‘Do you though?’
‘Yes!’ Then I think about it for a moment. ‘Sort of.’
‘Sort of? Eleanor!’
‘Listen, a couple of years back, Min and I lived in an apartment block. Our next-door neighbour was this batty woman called Mrs Simpson, and she constantly had a lit ciggy hanging out of her mouth, or sitting in an ashtray, or both.’
‘Sounds great.’ Troy gestures for me to continue. ‘We love a quality neighbour.’
‘Right,’ I say. ‘So, it was inevitable that she would set fire to something one day, and of course she did. Her entire apartment was completely gutted, but we were fine. The most annoying thing, aside from the smell –’ I screw up my nose, because this current smell is similar, but also not ‘– was the construction work that went on for weeks after the fact. We moved out before they were done though.’
‘Okay.’ Troy shifts so he’s facing me. ‘And this experience has informed you that fires equal no big deal?’
‘I wouldn’t say “no big deal” but . . .’ I try to think of a word that might explain what I was thinking when I called the fire brigade. ‘Fixable?’
There’s a whole lot of shouting out on the road and some of the firefighters, in their heavy black and yellow suits, scatter in response. A tall, thin old man is clearly in charge and even from all the way over here, I find him intimidating.
‘It’s different in the bush, Eleanor,’ Troy tells me. ‘A fire out here is less likely to be contained than in a brick building in the city. It’s not just a matter of taking out the next-door neighbour’s place when it spreads . . . although that could well have happened. Not to mention that out here we rely on a lot of volunteers and getting a fire truck to the fire isn’t always speedy. It could have turned into something . . . not good.’ He reaches across and takes my hand in his. I feel a zing shoot through my belly.
I take a breath and suddenly my lips feel dry. Is this the moment? Is he going to kiss me, finally? I turn my head to face him, but he’s not even looking at me. He’s looking across to the bush.
‘The slightest change in the wind,’ he continues, ‘and every tree between your place and mine could be gone. A different direction, and all of Cooinda could burn to the ground. In a matter of minutes.’
I give a little shudder and he looks down at our hands before raising his eyes back up to mine. I take in another short, sharp breath. My heart is going a million miles an hour. His golden, shaggy hair drops across one eye as he moves his head. Geez, his eyes are such a nice shade of blue.
‘Eleanor Jones!’
I groan at the sound of someone angrily shouting my name. I’ve heard that enough times lately to recognise the voice of Detective Sergeant Holly Williams. She’s cool, truly. I never thought that I’d be friends with a grown-up, or a cop, but Holly is pretty great. She does get frustrated with me at times though. I can’t imagine why. I’m very easy to get along with.
Right now she’s stomping up my driveway in an uncharacteristically aggressive way, and behind her, driving slowly in her little car, is Min.
Great. Now everyone is here. It’s practically a party.
I release Troy’s hand and sit back on the day bed.
‘What did I do now?’ The question isn’t really directed at anyone, but Troy offers a shrug.
By the time Holly makes it to the porch, Min is out of the car and alongside her.
‘Are you okay, Leni?’ Min is wearing her nurse’s scrubs, and I get the impression she’s only here because everyone at the hospital would have heard about the fire by now and sent her home to check on me. ‘The phone lines are down, but I felt like you weren’t in danger.’
I laugh at the typical Min response. The woman swears by a vibe check. ‘I’m all good, Min. You didn’t need to come home from work.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ She looks around at the fire truck and police cars and array of strangers wandering the street. ‘Looks like it’s all happening. Not exactly a quiet Sunday.’
Holly rolls her eyes. ‘And here I am wondering where she gets it from. Does the lax response to fires run in the family?’
Min waves an arm. ‘Oh, Leni and I have had a neighbour’s place go up in flames before. Everyone survived.’ She looks at me and winks. ‘Remember Mrs Simpson? Her and those cigarettes. Shocker.’
We both laugh and Holly looks between the two of us and shakes her head.
‘Well, this wasn’t a cigarette, we know that much already,’ she says. Her mouth sets in a firm line. She has her long hair pulled back in a low ponytail and even though she’s in activewear, and not her usual pants suit and crisp shirt, I’m reminded that she can definitely get serious when she has to. ‘Eleanor, I’m going to have to ask you some questions about earlier. You might have seen or noticed something, even well before the fire started. There’s no sign of Garry McGregor right now, but I’m going to have to talk to him about his home insurance, that’s for sure.’ This last bit is mumbled under her breath, and I’m pretty sure she’s more thinking out loud at this point.
‘Garry McGregor?’ Min asks.
Troy points towards the blackened, smoky shell down the street. ‘Your neighbour.’
‘Pretty sure we’ve never met him,’ I explain. Unlike the rest of the population of the small town that is Cooinda, Min and I don’t really have much to do with anyone, least of all our neighbours.
