‘Hmm, a history of Min Min lights in the Tiers. That’s interesting . . . did you know they still can’t explain what causes those lights . . .’

‘Third-most haunted town in Australia . . . how interesting.’

The sun had well and truly set by the time they reached the Limestone Creek station. They swapped the squad car for an unmarked police car, a silver BMW sedan, then finally pulled into the Western Tiers Country Inn.

The rain was torrential. Globular garden lights lit the driveway gold, right to the massive building itself, historic grey brick lit up by watery floodlights. He rolled their sedan under an ivy arch strung with white fairy lights and switched his wipers off.

The moment he stepped out of the car he was drenched again. He pulled the three large suitcases out of the boot, stacking and rolling them towards the main entrance with practised ease. Gabriella walked beside him with her own, much smaller suitcase, her shoulders hunched against the rain.

An elderly gentleman, having dinner in the Inn’s restaurant and in view of the door, leapt to his feet to open it for Con, helping him lift the suitcases over the doorstep.

‘Horrible weather, isn’t it?’ said the man once they were inside. He looked sadly towards the mountains.

‘Too right, mate,’ said Con.

The smell of food from the Inn’s restaurant made his stomach rumble, but the noise coming from the dining room was very subdued.

‘Feels like a funeral in here,’ Gabriella commented to Con.

Those four girls up there in this weather, at night, must have been in most people’s minds that night, not just here in Limestone Creek but all over Australia.

The woman behind the reception desk put down her magazine and eyed Con’s luggage up and down. ‘Another journo? Do you have a reservation?’

‘Not a journo, I’m a detective. And yes, surname Badenhorst.’

She tapped at her computer. ‘You’re late.’ She looked down at all his luggage. ‘And the reservation is for one.’

‘That’s a relief, because I only booked for one.’

She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Lot of suitcases for one person. Do you have ID?’

Gabriella appeared beside him, putting her arm in his. ‘Isn’t he a sweetheart, helping me with my bags?’

Con showed the receptionist his police ID and was given the key to his room.

‘Sorry for being stroppy,’ the receptionist said, not sounding sorry at all. ‘We’ve just had a lot of stickybeaks today. Some of them even pretended to be cops.’ She glanced towards the window and the rain that beat against it. ‘Poor girls. You lot will find them, right?’

‘Probably,’ said Con.

Gabriella hit him. ‘Yes, ma’am, we will definitely find them.’

Con waited as Gabriella checked in, and then they both rolled their luggage down the hallway towards their rooms.

‘Meet back in there for dinner?’ said Gabriella.