Faraday's Folly: The Scottsferne Chronicles, #1

By Marty Langenberg

Annette Harding is the star of Faraday's Folly. She says:

 

Rex, a gorgeous German shepherd, is beside me when we find a skeleton in the barn of a property I've just inherited from my father. Then, a neighbour tells me there are rumours of a mineral spring somewhere on the land. I'm intrigued by the thought of my own mineral spring, but I am determined to discover the truth about the skeleton.

Was my own father involved?

What about his best friend who sold him the property?

My search takes us on a road trip to a remote opal mining town in South Australia. Along the way, we meet David and his grandfather Henry (Pops) Dawson. What they teach me about dowsing encourages me to search my new property for the mythical mineral spring.

Could it provide the basis for the Scottsferne Spa and Wellness Centre I now dream about establishing?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marty Langenberg
• Release date: Mar 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393932178

Marty Langenberg

Marty Langenberg is a retired teacher and administrator. His first book was published on Amazon in October 2017. The Pennie Irvine Series currently consists of 3 books, namely: Pennie, The Baby Farm, and The Paris Connection. His latest book Learning, By Degrees, is the first book in the Dan Irvine Series. Several other books are currently in various stages of completion. He has also written a number of poems in the Australian Bush Poetry style.

Book preview

Prologue

March 2007

THE SCOTTSFERNE BRANCH of the Commercial Bank was open for business. Jack Gribble had entered a few minutes after the only other customer who was now speaking with the teller.

Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Carter, he heard the teller say. I have just confirmed. The check you deposited last week has cleared.

Vince Carter laughed when he said, Well, that’s a relief. It was a check written by my own mother! Good to see she wasn’t tricking me, right?

The teller smiled to acknowledge the comment. Since this is a large withdrawal, I’ve had to get the manager’s authority to pay it out. It’s not a problem, but are you sure you do want the whole amount in cash? A bank check would be much safer.

No, I’d like it in cash, please.

Vince shrugged his shoulders as he recalled Faraday’s insistence on cash.

Whatever!

Cash it would be. The property was an absolute bargain. He’d go along with whatever Faraday wanted.

Okay, then. I’ll put it in a plain envelope for you.

Thanks. That’ll be great.

Jack wasn’t really eavesdropping on the conversation. After all, they hadn’t been whispering. Stepping up behind the other customer to wait his turn, he could hear the teller counting, ... eight, nine, and ten. There you are. That’s all the bundles. Here is your envelope, and thanks, Mr. Carter.

Jack had glanced over the other man’s shoulder and was stunned when he realized the bundles the teller referred to were bundles of hundred-dollar bills.

What the...?

‘Ten’, the teller had said.

Ten thousand?

Wow!

Lucky Mr. Carter.

Jack had only come in to withdraw the last twenty dollars of his unemployment benefits. When the other man moved away from the teller, Jack could see he was stuffing the bulky envelope into an inside pocket of the jacket he wore.

Yes, sir. Can I help you?

Jack shook himself out of his reverie and answered, Err... sorry. I think I may have left the stove on. I’ll come back later. He almost ran out of the bank and saw the man the teller had called Mr. Carter get into a beat-up old van, and drive away along Howard Street. As he watched, he could see the van’s indicator signaling a right-hand turn.

Why is he going up Millers Track? Jack wondered. He’d lived his entire life in the small, bay-side town and he knew Millers Track was no more than a graveled, dead-end road with nothing but a derelict old house on it. He was sure no-one lived down there. On an impulse, he decided to investigate and hopped on his bicycle. When he reached the corner where he’d seen the van turn in, he pushed harder on his pedals until he saw the vehicle parked outside the abandoned Faraday place. One of the doors to the large shed stood ajar, and he assumed the man must be inside. He dropped his bicycle into the long grass and crept closer to peek into the shed. It was gloomy in there, but he could see the man bent over inspecting an old machine.

Jack confirmed there was no-one else around before he picked up an old shovel and stepped into the shed.

AS WAS OFTEN THE CASE, nine-year-old Charlie Finley was in his huge backyard, adjacent to the old Faraday home. This was his playground, where he amused himself with his private adventures, dashing in and out of the trees with his dog Benny, the mongrel pup he’d rescued after he found it cowering under his veranda. Charlie was tall for his age, and adults around him often assumed he must be twelve or thirteen. Sadly, as his teachers used to say, Charlie was not quite the full quid. They found him hard to control. Too often he demanded attention when he spoke out of turn and he frequently ended up banned to the corridor.

There was no follow-up from truancy officers, and there were no complaints from the school when Charlie’s father opted to keep him home, often for days at a time. Everyone knew Charlie was happiest in his own company, and his school was ill-equipped to educate a clumsy boy who displayed such learning difficulties.

Screened by the thick growth of tea trees as he looked over the dividing fence, Charlie saw a van come to a stop outside the old Faraday place. That was strange. Never, in his entire life, had he seen anyone go there. He called for Benny to sit beside him when he saw another man arrive. On a bicycle. Stranger and stranger.

He kept watching as the second man peeked into the shed, and looked all around him, before he picked up an old shovel that lay in the long weeds. He raised it above his head and tiptoed inside.

Come on, Benny, Charlie whispered. It’s time for a drink, and he followed the dog as it ran ahead of him back to the house. Later, looking out through his bedroom window, he saw the van drive out of Millers Track and make a right-hand turn back onto Howard Street. ‘Hmm,’ he thought. ‘That’s a new registration plate. Someone’s re-registered the old HiAce.’ He watched as it headed out of town. Although he watched for another fifteen minutes, he saw no sign of the man on the bicycle. He dropped onto his bed and thought about what he had seen.

Later, before it got dark, he took Benny for a walk along Millers Track. When they got to the spot just outside Faraday’s shed where he’d seen the man drop his bicycle into the grass, Charlie stopped and looked around. There was no sign of the bike.

Everyone knew Millers Track ended at the edge of the Faraday place, but he and Benny often walked further. Going right past the old house and the barn they would step over the remnants of a post and wire fence that marked the end of the track. If they walked down the slight incline for another five minutes, they would reach The Esplanade, the long stretch of asphalt that separated the sandy beach from the farms. Perhaps the man on the bicycle had gone that way? 

Chapter 1

Present Day

Istood alone, staring into the unfilled grave. I could see the top of the plain, walnut coffin, inside which rested my mother’s body.

Rested?

Maybe.

I hoped she was finally at rest, although I suspected she would already be demanding special attention from God’s angels, or more likely, criticizing the devil’s cohorts.

Whatever.

It was over, at last. Thirty-six years ago, as a result of what must have been an accident or a night of drunken passion, she had given me life. Now she was dead, at the end of fifty-seven bitter years. Had she ever experienced happiness during those years?

The minister who performed the brief grave-side ceremony had departed almost at once, and the very few mourners had also drifted away until I was the only one left. I turned away, too. An icy wind blew across the open Western Cemetery, but I was sure it wasn’t the reason for the shiver that ran down my back.

‘Forget it, mum,’ I whispered. ‘It’s over. I’m all out of tears.’

I tugged at my long black coat and pulled its belt a little tighter when the first few drops of rain tapped lightly on my shoulders. As I walked away from the gravesite, I could see my ex-husband, John Farleigh, waiting near the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery. An old woman I did not recognize stood next to him, looking uncertainly in my direction.

As I reached them, John said, Annette, this is Mrs. Carter.

I’m sorry. I don’t think...

It’s Margaret, Annette. I came to offer condolences. I’m Vince’s mum. Do you remember Vincent Carter? Your dad and Vince went to school together, and they were always good friends. Your mum and I were friends, too, until...

Until the accident, right?

Yes. Well... no. We’d lost touch a few years before that. I’m sorry we never patched things up between us.

Mum was not easy to be friends with, was she?

Mrs. Carter didn’t need to answer. More than six years had passed since the accident which killed my father and put my mother in a wheelchair. Mum had never been an easy person to live with, but after the accident she became completely irrational. The stroke which took away her voice came eighteen months later. It was the only reason I could cope with becoming her live-in carer. She could no longer speak but still made my life hell until the day she died, four long years later.

Mrs. Carter, I do remember. Didn’t mum and dad used to visit with you when I was little? Thank you so much for coming.

That’s right. I was your babysitter too, until you were about five, I think? Vince still lived at home with me, even then. When I saw the notice in the paper, about your mum’s death, I knew this was the right thing to do, but after all these years, I didn’t want to intrude. That’s why I waited out here. I really am so sorry for your loss.

Thank you, Mrs. Carter. How is your son?

I’m sorry to say, I don’t know. He was never terribly reliable, and I haven’t heard from him since he left, about six years ago.

Six years? That’s a coincidence. Mum and dad’s car accident was six years ago.

That would be right. I came to your dad’s funeral and Vince had left by then. Must have been about six months earlier that he just packed his bag and said he was going away for a while. It would devastate him to know his old friend had died.

When I didn’t say anything, Mrs. Carter went on, You must have been sad to miss your father’s funeral, dear?

John tried to save me from embarrassment, saying, Annette and I were living and working in Mooroolbark then. We didn’t hear about the accident until we moved back to Geelong the following year.

Oh, that must have been such a shock. Anyway, I didn’t mean to intrude. I must get going. Perhaps we can get together after everything settles down.

I doubted I would ever see her again, so I just nodded as she turned and walked to her car. I stared after her until she drove away, numbness settling over me as John took me by the hand to guide me back to his car.

Chapter 2

John might be my ex , but our amicable separation after just twelve months of marriage had enabled us to resume the close friendship we’d had before we became man and wife. Today, as usual, he’d waited in the wings until I was ready.

With no discussion, he drove us back to South Geelong, to the house in Balliang Street that used to be home for both of us. It was the house we had bought together after we moved from Mooroolbark, just after our honeymoon. The same house where we lived as friends, even after our separation less than one year later. Some saw it as an unusual arrangement, but for us it made sense. We were good friends who had made the mistake of getting married. The four-bedroom house was more than big enough for two good friends to share. Now, I thought of it as John’s home, for he had stayed on after I moved out. Four years ago, I’d gone back to care for my mother, back to my old room in my parents’ house in Swanston Street. The house I’d run away from at sixteen, vowing I would never return.

Neither of us had found a new life partner after our separation. When I moved out to care for mum, John filled his spare time to be a volunteer at the animal shelter. Whenever he was not working, he spent most of his time there. Not surprisingly, he now shared our old home with a three-year-old German Shepherd named Rex. He was an exceptionally large dog with a shiny, red-and-black, long-haired coat and gorgeous, deep brown eyes. John had also fallen for two cats, which both answered to Puss. All were ‘rescued’ from the shelter.

What are your plans? John asked after we both sat at the kitchen’s island bench with a freshly brewed coffee. From there I could see Puss One and Puss Two, both asleep along the top edge of the sofa which stood in the opposite corner of the open space living area. Rex parked himself close to us, hopeful of scoring a biscuit from the tin John produced. Have you had time to think about things? Will you go back to work?

I’ll be thirty-six next month and I’ve been unemployed since I became mum’s carer, four years ago, so I don’t think I’ll have too many options. The police force won’t take me back unless I start again as a constable, and I’m not sure I even want to go back. But I will have to find a job if I’m going to survive. I’ll probably have to go on the dole until I can sort something out. I looked at him and smiled, trying to put on a brave face, but tears were threatening.

You know you can always come back here to live. It’s still partly yours, and at least you wouldn’t have to worry about rent. I can soon clear out two bedrooms.

I couldn’t do that. You’ve made all the mortgage payments for the last four years. I don’t have any claims on this place.

Your name is still on the title.

You know that means nothing, although I’m surprised you never changed it. This is your home, now. Besides, I guess mum and dad’s house will be mine. If there’s a will.

Don’t you know?

I have no idea. I didn’t think to ask mum about it and she probably wouldn’t have told me, whether she could speak or not.

Yeah, I never envied you having to care for her. I still don’t understand why you took it on. She was never a pleasant woman, not from what I saw of her during the short time I knew her. Your father must have been a saint.

Far from it. They were the perfect couple; perfect for each other, anyway. I never understood why they ever got married. Probably felt they had to, after mum became pregnant. They hated each other for all the time I can remember. Mum’s hoarding drove dad crazy, but his drinking caused constant arguments. It surprised me dad was sober when he had the accident. Still, somebody had to look after mum after the stroke. There was only me after she chased away all the other carers. You know that as well as I do.

He knew it all, and only too well. Even though I had moved back home to care for mum, John had been my backstop and confidante whenever I couldn’t take it anymore. Often, I’d arrive in tears after yet another fight with my mother. I tried to make allowances for her condition, but sometimes it all became too much. John was always ready to listen because he knew mum’s moods as well as I did.

I reckon their place must be yours now. Do you know if it’s paid for? How long have they owned it?

I know nothing about that. While I was looking after mum, I never had to pay out any rent or anything. There were just the regular bills. I remember I paid the council rates, so they must have owned the house, right? How do I find that stuff out? Where do I start?

You told me you lived right there in Swanston Street until you ran away. If your parents owned it, it must now be yours. Who else would it go to?

Chapter 3

Talk about being thrown in at the deep end! I had no idea about any of my parents’ affairs. In desperation, I went to the Geelong Court House. The young lady I spoke to soon made it clear I would need a lawyer. She was quite blunt. You can’t do this stuff on your own. Pick a name out of the telephone book. You need professional help.

That’s how I ended up in the office of Joseph Barton.

Intestacy is the legal term, Miss Harding. That’s the condition of the estate of a person who dies without having made a valid will.

But I don’t even know if mum or dad ever made a will. It wasn’t anything we talked about. Does that mean it all goes to the State?

Nothing is that simple. Do you have access to your parents’ papers? Have you searched through their belongings?

I’ve started, yes. So far, I’ve found bank statements and notices from the Geelong Council, about the rates and that. No wills though.

"The most efficient next step would be for you to authorize me to do the necessary checking on your behalf. That means I’ll do the research needed to find if there is a will. It’s fairly straight forward and one of our clerks will soon sort that out.

With your approval, I’ll also search to find out what assets your parents owned, and what they might owe to others. In broad terms, it’s what the law refers to as Probates and Letters of Administration. It includes me advertising to let people know about your mother’s death and asking any interested parties to identify themselves. It’s all very straight forward. Sadly, there are literally thousands of people who don’t get around to making a will. It does provide employment for people like me.

How long would all that take, Mr. Barton?

I normally estimate it will take six weeks.

Chapter 4

S ix weeks? John asked .

Red tape, I answered. I suppose they have to be sure. Mr. Barton said I could live in the Swanston Street house until we know what’s what. I’ll need time, anyway, to clean it out, go through all of mum and dad’s papers. Nearly forty years of mum’s hoarding. That’s one thing I’m not looking forward to. I’ve been out of their lives since I was sixteen.

You know I’ll do whatever I can to help, but I do have to go to work. In between shifts, I can come over.

You’re so good to me, John. I’m glad we’re still friends.

Exactly. That’s what friends are for. And, if I were a betting man, I would say you’ll end up owning that house. Have you thought about what you’ll do with it?

How do you mean?

Do it up? Sell it? Live in it?

It’s too early to think about those things. I wouldn’t want to live there, that I know for certain. Too many unpleasant memories.

But, until you hear from the lawyer, you’ll live there, on your own?

I’m a big girl. I’ll cope. It’s only about a kilometer away, so I’ll probably drop in quite often to annoy you. I hope I won’t cramp your style.

Not much chance of that. I’ll look forward to it. My cooking skills have improved a lot since you left. We can share a meal whenever you want.

I’ll cook for you when I do come. It’s the least I can do.

We sat quietly for a few minutes. Rex must have sensed my sadness, for he came over and put his head on my lap. I scratched him between his ears and slowly stroked him along his back. Soon, I felt better, and I said, He’s such a beautiful dog. So soft and so gentle. You were lucky to find him.

His previous owners let him go when they down-sized into retirement. He looked so sad when he first arrived at the shelter.

Would you mind if he came with me to Swanston Street? While I live there to sort through stuff?

Err... You really want that? You never wanted a dog when we were married.

Rex is different. I can see that. I think he likes me, too. Rex lifted his head and thumped his tail when I spoke his name. He looked at me, expectantly. See, I think he’s agreeing. I’d love to take him for his walks around the neighborhood. It’ll be good for both of us.

I sometimes feel guilty that I neglect him, especially when I do extra shifts at work. He’ll get much more attention if he stays with you.

John, I don’t mean permanently. I don’t want to take him away from you. He’ll still be your dog.

Let’s see how it goes. In the end, Rex will be the one to decide.

Chapter 5

I’d expected Mr. Barton to send me a letter, detailing what he had discovered, so it surprised me when his secretary rang my cellphone.

Mr. Barton would like to meet with you, at your convenience.

But why? It’s only been three weeks. He can’t have done everything already?

I’m sorry, Miss Harding. I don’t know any details. Would tomorrow afternoon be suitable for you to come in?

I admit, I was on edge when I walked into the lawyer’s office. I couldn’t begin to guess why he needed to see me, but I feared he would have bad news.

His demeanor showed the opposite. Ah, Miss Harding. Thank you so much for coming in. He walked towards me from behind his desk, clasped my cold right hand in both of his, and smiled from ear to ear. Please have a seat. I have exciting news.

Exciting news? Good news, I hope? I didn’t know what to think when your secretary rang.

Nothing to worry about. This is good news. I’m happy to tell you, it seems you are a rich woman!

Pardon? Surely, I had miss-heard him. Did he say, rich?

There is no doubt. I’ve had several discussions with the bank manager. I hope it’s not too personal, but I need to ask you something. How... err... was your parents’ relationship? With each other, I mean.

They hated each other, I said. Sorry to be so blunt, but anyone who knew them will tell you that. My parents argued from morning till night. It drove me crazy, the way they were always yelling at each other. As soon as I turned sixteen, I left, and I never went back.

I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been hard for you. But here is the upside. Your father kept a secret bank account. I still have found no evidence of a will made by your mother, so that means your father’s bank account is now yours.

I’m sorry. You must have made a mistake. My father died six years ago in a car crash. It also damaged mum’s spine, and she ended up in a wheelchair.

Yes, I am aware of the circumstances.

Well then, any secret account my father might have had would have gone to mum, surely? She only had dad’s superannuation and the invalid pension after the accident. It barely paid her bills.

I understand your confusion. The bank manager explained what may have happened. Now that you have confirmed your parents were, perhaps, not on the best of terms, I’m inclined to agree with him.

Chapter 6

After leaving the lawyer’s office in a daze, I’d ended up back at John’s house. There, I paced the floors, trailed every inch of the way by Rex, as I waited anxiously for John to come home from his shift. I’d rung him about Mr. Barton’s unexpected request for a meeting.

I guess you have news? he said as he walked in.

Obviously, my parents were even more crazy than I thought. I still can’t believe it. Dad kept a secret bank account.

Err... right. Which means?

Dad had money. A lot of money, and he didn’t want mum to know about it. Mr. Barton hasn’t found a will, so if nothing turns up, that money will be mine.

But your dad’s been dead for over six years. How did your mother not inherit it?

Because she never tried to inherit. She just went back to her life. After dad’s death, mum spent six weeks in rehab, right? To get used to the wheelchair. While she was in rehab, there were modifications done to the house to make sure mum could get around, once she moved back in.

But after those six weeks? Didn’t she have her own lawyer? What about the car crash? Car registration includes compulsory insurance for third parties.

No, mum simply moved back home. As for the third-party insurance, the Transport Accident Commission paid for modifications to make the house wheelchair friendly, but that’s all. There was never a cash payout.

Your mother just moved back into the house? As if nothing had changed? Really?

"You have to remember. Mum was a hoarder until the day she died. Her home was always her refuge. She hated going out. First, the wheelchair and then the stroke. Those things just put more chips on her shoulder and helped to convince her the entire world was against her. She trusted no one and claimed the carers were stealing from her. She had so much stuff, I don’t know how she would know if anything really was missing. Even now, there’s still stuff everywhere. I’ve hardly made a dent in it during these last three weeks."

I think you’re getting off the point, John gently pointed out. You were saying about the secret account?

Right. Let me think.

A glass of wine might help. I’ll get it. You sit down, try to relax, and get the details right in your mind. The lawyer spoke with your dad’s bank manager, right?

Yes. Mum and dad always kept their money with Bank Australia, their whole lives. They had a Bank Australia mortgage for the house, which is now all paid for.

That’s great!

"The Bank Australia manager in Geelong, Rodgers is his name, he