‘Sorry.’ She pointed to a coffee menu perched on a small easel atop the counter. ‘I can make you any of those.’

Flowers scanned the list. ‘I’ll have the mint mocha and a pistachio slice, thanks.’

‘Good choice. An energy boost is what you need at this time of the day.’

‘It’s been a long one.’ And he still had the half hour trip to Thredbo ahead of him.

‘Have here or take away?’

‘I’ll take it with me, thanks.’

He wandered over to the wall, absently running an eye over the paintings of snowy landscapes and sketches of landmark buildings and homesteads. Ryder’s meeting with the inspector at headquarters in Sydney was a stroke of luck for Flowers. He could spend all night on the computer if he wanted to before jumping back on the case work in the morning. Anticipation was already building up in his body at the thought of tonight’s excitement. So what if he was wrecked from lack of sleep? It was worth it.

‘Can I help you with something?’

Flowers turned, recognising the elderly woman he’d seen at the Tooma Hotel a couple of days ago. She was refolding a pile of jumpers. ‘I’m fine, thanks, just killing time while I wait for my coffee.’

Flowers turned back to look at the sketches, his gaze immediately locking on to a homestead he recognised. He swung around. ‘Excuse me, is this the Lorrimer house?’

‘That’s right.’ The woman put down the jumper she was holding and walked over to him. ‘That’s White Winter Station in its original splendour, before all the other bits were added.’

Flowers studied the sketch. ‘There’s a garage over this side now, isn’t there?’ he asked, pointing.

‘Yes. The artist has sketched the homestead numerous times, and other parts of the property. It’s a significant structure and was the original family home of one of the pioneering graziers in the area.’

‘Who’s the artist?’ Flowers asked.

‘John Gilbert. Have you been to his gallery in Thredbo?’

‘No. I’ve been to the museum. I didn’t know there was a gallery there.’

‘It’s worth a visit.’ The woman smiled, and it was obvious she had a genuine interest in the subject. ‘John has drawn hundreds of sketches over the years, but he’s eighty-five now and his eyesight isn’t what it was.’ She reached for a cardboard box that was sitting on an antique desk. ‘There are some smaller prints in here.’ She began flipping through the prints before lifting one out to show him. ‘This is a later one after the garages were built. That’s mostly how it looks today.’