Zara and Tammy had kept in contact following their initial interview two years ago, after finding they shared an interest in crime authors and wine. Now they met for a drink or coffee whenever Tammy was in the city and discussed the new-release novels that had come out in the time since they’d seen each other last. It wasn’t unusual to get a text message from Tammy in the early hours of the morning, saying something like, OMG! Just finished Michael Robotham’s new-y. You HAVE to read it!

Don’t suppose that will happen as much now, Zara thought. At least not for a while. Sighing, she continued to unpack the box. At the bottom was her favourite photo, carefully wrapped in a tea towel and tucked in between the covers of a folder. She placed it on her desk and stared at it.

It had been taken when she was sixteen. Zara had been competing at an athletics carnival and she’d won a gold medal for the fifteen hundred metres. Her dad was standing next to her, his arm around her shoulders, smiling broadly. He’d even told her that day he was proud of her. Something of a rarity. How could she have known then that a few years later photos like this one and her memories would be all she had left of her dad?

Brian had been a tough old bugger. That’s how his best mate, Mick, had described him at the funeral. Tough but kind. Someone who loved his family. Someone who loved farming and animals. The community.

Zara agreed with some of that, but not all. He’d been hard on his kids, for sure, expected them to work and pull their weight. But if he hadn’t been, neither she nor Will would have developed the work ethic they had. And yes, he’d loved his family, but she wasn’t quite sure he was as community-oriented as Mick had described. He’d loved spending time on the farm, with Lynda and the kids, more than being part of a sporting group or local committee. The most community-minded thing she remembered him doing was cooking sausages at a footy fundraiser to send Will’s team to Adelaide for a competition down there.

She made a mental note to ask her mum where Mick was now. It would be unusual if he wasn’t around helping Lynda and Will in some form or another.

‘Dad, what would you make of all this?’ she asked out loud, slumping down into the desk chair. ‘Why do I feel the way I do?’

As if on cue, her phone rang and she jumped.

Lachy.

‘Settled in yet?’ He rarely said hello.

‘Still got a few boxes to unpack.’

‘How’re you faring?’

Zara paused. ‘Okay.’

‘Come on, Zara. I know you better than that.’

Reaching for her glass of wine, she took another sip and considered her answer. Lachy could read her like a book.

‘I’m struggling a bit.’

‘With the move or the situation?’ Straight to the point.