CHAPTER
31
When Kirsty arrived at the Clarence Museum and Historical Society to hear Carol’s dastardly plan, she found her bestie half in and half out of the doorway. A bulky A-frame sign appeared to be wedged in the doorway along with her and her grey cane.
Kirsty opened her driver’s door and jumped out. ‘You need a hand with that?’
‘Oh, thanks, pet. Darn thing gets heavier every year.’
‘Is it going in or out?’
‘In. Pop it by the sign-in book, there’s a love.’
Kirsty read the sign as she lugged it indoors. CASHPRIZES& FESTIVALFUN AT THEANNUALCLARENCERIVERBUSHPOETRYMUSTER–ENTRIES CLOSE THISFRIDAY. ‘How’s the judging coming along?’
‘Oh, pet. We’ve had an organisational crisis; I’m a bit blue about it, to be honest.’
‘Anything I can do?’
‘No, not unless you want to coordinate a community event for a thousand ticketholders.’
‘Um, no thank you. Carol, this sign is too heavy for you to be carrying.’
‘Now don’t start chastising me or we’re going to have ourselves a little problem. If I want to drop dead from carrying a sign to promote an event that means more to me than Christmas, that’s my affair and no-one else’s.’
‘Um, okay.’
‘And a worthy way to pop off, in my opinion.’
‘I’m sorry, Carol. I didn’t mean to offend you.’
Carol gave her arm a squeeze before shuffling past her to the table. ‘I’m never offended by people who need me. And you, my friend, need me: I have a plan to rescue that plane.’
‘You’ve booked a giant crane? We’re going to lead a commando mission under cover of darkness?’ Amy’s optimism must be catching.
‘Better than that, my love. We’re going to harness our greatest strength and put it to use.’
Kirsty frowned. Carol could barely carry an A-frame sign, and the only superpower Kirsty had seen employed here in the museum was tearing into biscuit packets.
Carol set her crepe-paper hand over Kirsty’s. ‘Community, my love: that is our strength. We’re taking your story public.’
‘Oh!’
‘Young Eric Middleton works for the paper over in Lismore, and he’s agreed to run an article—front page, no less!—about the long-lost great-granddaughter come to save a local war hero’s legacy from a derelict shed.’
‘But how will that solve the ownership problem?’
Carol sighed. ‘Dear me, you young people. So defeatist. This is how it will work: the Clarence locals will all be behind your project to rescue the plane and have it exhibited in a public museum. We (that’s you and me) write up an emotional, heartwarmingstory for the paper as though the hero’s plane being gifted to a museum is a done deal … that way, if the bank decides they want to start selling off Joe Miles’s assets, they’ll know public opinion will be against them in a big way the second they start sniffing around.’
Heck yes, she could imagine the headlines. Local bank trashes dream of war hero’s family. ‘That … is a great plan, Carol. But we’re nowhere near ready. I haven’t even been up to Wacol yet.’
‘Yes, we’d better get cracking on that.’
Kirsty smiled and relaxed into her seat. What would she have done if she hadn’t found Carol to chivvy her along? Hunting through dusty old books, click-clacking away on keyboards … her journey into Bill’s past in the biscuit-rich environment of the Clarence Museum had been such a solace. She’d felt so safe in Carol’s hands. So comfortable in this quiet room, with the periodic hum of the kettle and the faint smell of star anise that filled the room whenev—
‘Um, Carol … what are you doing?’
The octogenarian was shuffling her way to the door, her walking cane in one hand and an ancient mauve leather handbag in the other. ‘What part of “get cracking” did you not understand, pet? You and I need to go to Wacol.’