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I’m sorry you ended up with … Scoobie.’ Takumi’s shoulders shook, and holding back a laugh, voice squeaking, he added, but I can hardly take him home amongst Dad’s alpacas.’
    â€˜Take it easy, Tak, you’ll burst a blood vessel. For fuck’s sake let it rip.’
    â€˜Yep.’ Takumi nodded, turning red before he burst out laughing.
    â€˜Jesus,’ Brock muttered, eyeing him. ‘Okay, I’m not complaining, keeps me company. Changing his name, though. I’ll relieve you at six this arvo.’ Brock opened the door to his Ranger and stopped to give Takumi a fierce look. ‘You got work to do. You get anything—anything at all, even if it’s your gut feeling weird—you tell me!’
    Not even trying to fight a grin, Takumi called out, ‘Will do.’
    ***
    No sweet tooth by any means, Claudia twitched like she’d overdosed on sugar. Her nocturnal gymnastics had been going on for three nights now; Sofie had had enough and crawled out of bed. Groping in the pre-dawn dark and trying to see through eyes that felt like some idiot had thrown sand at them was a bitch. Playing the shower over her face was pure bliss. Dried and dressed, she hurried downstairs for double-shot espresso. There’d be no cracking eggs, or using a knife, before caffeine. Only then would she prepare takeaway breakfast for the locals. Tradesmen liked to drop in on their way to work for some honest food wrapped with care and not covered in a layer of grease. She peered out the big picture window to the dark and bitterly cold morning. Street lights shone down over layers of frost that sparkled and covered everything. Sofie switched on the restaurant’s lights and the soft pink neon sign outside that said Veronica’s . She unlocked the front door, and headed back to the kitchen to crack eggs and prepare the bacon.
    The restaurant’s bell above the door tinkled and Sofie called out, ‘Be there in a sec!’ The sound of something landing on a table with a soft thud told her it was the newsagent dropping off the morning’s papers. ‘Thank you!’ Sofie called out, but didn’t get the usual response. She shrugged and continued whisking the eggs, adding a little cream, salt, pepper and fresh parsley. She rang the bakery and put in her order for fresh bread, rolls and croissants. Fifteen minutes later there was a thump at the door. Sofie hurried out of the kitchen to let Trevor in carrying a crate packed with her order. The aroma of bread just out of the oven, warm and fresh, wafted through the restaurant. Sofie took a deep breath. Heaven.
    â€˜When are you going to change this door so I can shoulder it open? Every morning we do this routine.’
    â€˜Can’t, Trev, it’s heritage-listed y’ know,’ Sofie told him once again and, hands out, made a grab for the crate.
    But Trevor pushed past her as usual, muttering as he strode into the kitchen, ‘Your birthday or somethin’?’
    Sofie eyed the bundle wrapped in brown paper, tied with string and neatly plastered down with strips of sticky tape sitting on the table. This was obviously not the morning’s papers, and the oddest thing to find here in the restaurant. Staring at it wasn’t going to reveal what was inside.
    Trevor strode out the door saying, ‘We’ll do it again tomorra.’
    Sofie mumbled absentmindedly, ‘Right, bye, Trev.’ Something told her this package wasn’t good, and she should call someone—like Brock.
    Sure, any excuse.
    The first wave of workers’ utes parked outside the front door. Quickly, Sofie took hold of the string, plucked the package off the table, and held it out in front of her as she headed into the staffroom where she carefully placed it on a table.
    On her way back to the kitchen, she rang the police station. No one answered so she left a message.
    With all the early morning breakfasters out of the