All the way with LBJ 10

Jean carefully returned the phone's handset to the cradle. She pursed her lips and shook her head in slight annoyance. That Matthew Lawson had a lot of nerve telling her who she could and could not speak to! Why on earth shouldn't she call Janet? Jean understood on one level why Matthew would want her not to get involved, but she was already neck deep in this. And besides, Janet would need support and consolation, after all, not only had Janet just lost her lover, but now her sister had gone missing!

Thinking furiously Jean dusted the lounge room bookcase. Where on earth had young Liz disappeared to? And who had killed John Baxter? Did Liz know, or did she do it? Was that why she had run away… or maybe it was their father Tim Johnstone. He was known to have an explosive temper, perhaps he had found Baxter lurking around the farm and thought he was the thief. Oh, it was all too perplexing, and Jean thought she would burst with curiosity!

Finishing the housekeeping chores and while folding the laundry Jean finally concluded that she could not just sit around and wait for Matthew to report to her tonight over dinner. She would ignore his request and call Janet. With a determined nod and pat to the folded towels she walked over and reached for the phone.

Just as her hand reached for the handset, it jangled. 'Matthew!' Jean thought, and instantly picked up.

'Hello? Blake's residence,' she announced breathlessly.

'Jean! Oh Jean!' cried Janet's voice down the line. 'Have you heard? Oh Jean, how could she, how could Liz do such a thing! Please, can you come over, please Jean, please!'

A satisfied smirk crept over Jean's face as she told Janet she would be over within the next hour.

…..

Jean drove up the long dusty drive to the Johnstone's homestead. The Holden rolled to stop next to the house. As Jean left the car she noticed Tim Johnstone furiously chopping wood at the block next to one of the outbuildings. She waved to him but got no response.

As she stepped up the front stairs to the veranda Janet opened the screen door and rushed out into Jean's arms. Jean held the sobbing woman tightly, patting her back with a 'there-there' movement. After a few moments Janet pulled away. Dabbing her wet eyes with a handkerchief she looked at Jean and said gratefully, 'Thank you for coming Jean! I just did not know who else I could talk to! First John, now Liz. Dad won't mention her, he is so angry. He started chopping wood at 5am and won't stop!'

'Come, Janet, let's get a cup of tea. The world always looks better over a hot cuppa,' and with that Jean lead Janet back into the house, down the hall and into the kitchen. She sat Janet down at the old wooden table and bustled about getting the fixings for tea.

Janet half rose from her seat with a, 'Jean, you shouldn't be doing that…' but with an emphatic look and gesture from Jean she settled back down.

Janet's kitchen was a well-organised and logical as her own, so Jean had no trouble at all rounding up cups, pot, sugar and milk, and by the time Janet had recovered her composure a steaming cup of Twining's' best was being poured out in front of her.

'Janet,' began Jean, 'did you have any idea that Liz was going to do something like this? Or where she might have gone?'

With a few sips of the hot drink Janet recovered her equanimity somewhat and began to talk. 'No, Jean. Not at all. But look, she left this in my apron pocket. I found it this morning when I put it on to make Dad's breakfast.'

Janet pulled a folded, slightly crumpled piece of notepaper out of her apron pocket and passed it Jean. Jean careful flattened out the sheet. In a rounded, childish scrawl Liz had written:

'Dear Janet, I'm sorry. I can't stay here anymore, I can't live my life like you. I've got to take this chance, I may not have another. Tell Dad I'm sorry. Liz'

Jean looked up from the letter at Janet. 'What chance is she talking about?'

'I haven't a clue, Jean!' protested Janet. 'She has been so secretive this past year. Always at work or out at a friend's place. We hardly talk at all anymore.' Softly under her breath she added, 'And I never told her about John.'

'Have you shown this to the Inspector?' Jean wanted to know.

Janet shook her head. 'No. I only found it this morning. I haven't even shown it to Dad yet. It would just upset him more. Even though he always grumbles about her, she has always been his favourite. It was so wonderful to finally be 'first' in someone else's eyes.'

'Oh Janet,' said Jean with compassion, reaching across the table to hold Janet's hand.

Janet gave Jean a watery smile. 'I've come to terms with Dad years ago. He grumbles and moans about Liz being flighty, a waste of space, but he adores her. She has had him wrapped around her little finger since she was a tot. You know he helped finance that car of hers, don't you?'

'No! I wasn't aware of that. Although I did wonder how she could afford a new car on a newsagent clerk's wages.' Responded Jean.

'Partly my fault,' said Janet bitterly. 'I told her I had my own work to do here on the farm and I couldn't be getting up every morning at 5am to chauffer her into town everyday when there was a perfectly good bus stop down on the main road. A couple of wet mornings and she was moaning to Dad, and the next thing I know she's driving around in a new Mini!'

Jean looked at Janet sympathetically.

Janet sighed and said, 'I don't really mind that much. She does adore that little car so. I thought she was lucky to have that independence and I guess Dad thought it would keep her here on the farm longer. But I never thought she would just drive away like this! And to steal money as well!'

Jean shook her head. 'I just can't believe it of Liz. Something or someone is influencing her in this I suspect. You have no clues at all where or why she left? She didn't leave anything behind apart from this note.'

'As far as I can tell, she just took all her clothes. Come, I'll show you her room.' Sighing again, Janet rose from the table and lead Jean back down the hallway into Liz's room at the end.

Jean and Janet stood in the centre of the small bedroom and looked about. A single bed decorated with several stuffed teddies and covered with a quilted doona. A chest of drawers the top littered with used lipsticks, a standing mirror, a bentwood chair and a wardrobe. Pictures of Cary Grant and Elvis Presley ripped from movie magazines decorated the walls. It was the room of a teenage girl who had fast become a woman.

Janet strode to the wardrobe and swung it open. A few bare wire hangers jangled. 'See,' said Janet, 'empty. The chest of drawers is the same.'

'Hmmm.' Mused Jean. She walked around the room slowly. Bending over she peered under the bed, finding only the scuff marks in the dust where a suitcase had once rested. Rising up, she stood on tiptoes and tried to see on top of the wardrobe. Having no success, she pulled the bentwood chair over while Janet watched on curiously.

'Hold this steady for me, will you please Janet?' requested Jean. Janet held onto the back of the chair and Jean lightly stepped up on top of it. Her head now level with the top of the wardrobe she could see an old shoebox thrust to the back wall. Carefully reaching up while holding on to the top of the robe she pulled the box forward and down. Jean descended holding the box in her hands.

'What on earth is that?' asked Janet. Jean shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed. Janet sat next to her and watched as Jean lifted the lid off the shoe box. Inside the box, carefully tied together with a blue silk bit of ribbon was a thin stack of letters.

'Letters?' asked Janet. 'She never received any letters here at the farm!'

Jean carefully untied the ribbon and pulled out an envelope and looked at the direction written on it. 'It's addressed to her care of the Williams Newsagency.'

Janet pursed her lips in disapproval. 'More and more I am believing I just do not know my sister at all. What does it say?'

Jean hesitated. 'These are personal letters, Janet. Before we look at them we need to consider how Liz will feel if we read her private mail.'

Janet snorted. 'She shouldn't have left them behind then!'

'I guess,' said Jean dubiously, 'and if they can help us locate her.' With that Jean opened the letter and began to read.

'Um. It's a love letter.' Said Jean unsurprised.

'From?' asked Janet.

Jean scanned to the end of the letter. 'Sam.'

'Sam?' replied Janet. 'We don't know any "Sams".'

Jean handed the letter to Janet then opened the next letter. 'I would assume it is Sam the card salesman. She did say to me that she liked him one day in the newsagent.' Jean looked at the reverse of the envelope. 'No return address.'

Janet pulled another letter out of the stack and read. She gave a short chuckle. 'My darling golden-haired Angel' she quoted, 'As love letters go, it's pretty much drivel.'

'Most love letters are.' Replied Jean wryly. Although she quietly blushed to herself thinking that Lucien's were anything but drivel. Scandulous, but not drivel. She often wondered what the censors thought of what Lucien wrote to her.

'My John's were much more sensible!' Janet's voice wavered slightly. 'Still, this Sam seems sincere,' she said continuing to read, then gasped 'Oh My! They have been meeting every week at the Shamrock in Kyneton! The cheek of the girl!'

Jean reached the last letter in the pile. Reading through the letter her expression grew quite sober. 'This isn't good. Listen Janet,' "Darling Liz. The idiot doctor gave me an all clear! I won't go, they can't make me. I am going to run. Meet me Wednesday." The letter is dated two weeks ago, it's the last one here.'

'Two weeks ago! But where… oh my! Do you think it was him camped up there in the gully?'

'Maybe.' Mused Jean.

Jean heard Janet give a little sobbing gasp. Janet's face had gone deathly pale. 'Jean, do you think… I mean, my John…did this Sam…'

'I don't know Janet. I just don't know. But we need to call Inspector Lawson right away and have a little chat with him, I think.'

….

Sorry to have taken so long on the next chapter. It has been a jangly few weeks here.