The pavement was still busy. People walked their dogs, or strolled hand in hand window shopping. Seeing several people outside the bookshop, looking in thrilled her. She pushed a trolley around, listening to the Christmas music as she put a lot less in than she expected. Too many years living from day to day. Halfway around, she stopped and told herself off.
This is your home now. And it is Christmas, so start acting like it.
She did a U-turn and started shopping in the fresh produce area. Lots of lovely vegetables, eggs, and crispy fresh bread. She wasn’t a big meat eater, so chose some fish from the deli, along with a selection of cheese and ready-made salads.
Charlotte lingered over a display of Christmas cakes, shortbreads, and other goodies, then went looking for the more practical aisles with cleaning products and some extra plates and cups. She didn’t need Christmas fare.
Walking home loaded up with her bags of shopping, Charlotte stopped at a few shop windows to check out their displays. The travel agency was impressive, turning the top deck of the cruise ship into an outdoor Christmas party. A ladies’ boutique featured mannequins with Christmas attire around an artificial tree. But then she found one of Darcy’s trees at a gift shop. Well, it looked like the one in the bookshop.
Earlier in the day, after the book club ladies had left, and Charlotte had finished the tree, she’d got coffee for Rosie and herself.
“You know I have no retail background, Rosie, so did I handle the ladies well enough? Or, how could I improve?”
Rosie shook her head. “They are the minority. All are a bit selfish and when they come in together, they make each other worse. You did great.”
“I got the feeling Mrs Morris disliked Darcy. She was quite rude about his farm.”
“There is a history. The Morris and Forest families were close, very close friends, until Octavia’s husband…well, he took too much of a liking to the Mrs Forest of the time. Two divorces later, they moved away leaving both families shattered.”
“Oh, how awful!”
“Well, you’ve met Octavia.” Rosie smiled. “I’ve known her since high school. Divorce didn’t make her that way, but she now has a grudge against the Christmas Tree farm.”
Charlotte climbed the stairs to her apartment, mulling over the earlier conversation. Rosie had explained how Darcy came home from the city after his father passed away, bringing his own young family to a property allowed to deteriorate since the divorce.
She unlocked the door and carried everything inside. How sad that the poor decisions of one generation in a family were now impacting on the next. As she closed the door and locked it, Charlotte rested her forehead on the timber.
This isn’t about you.
So why was her stomach tensed up? Time to stop worrying about the past. Being here was about making a new life. Not living with the sins of her parents.
In an attempt to lighten her mood, Charlotte played Christmas songs on her phone as she created a salad with a side of homemade chips. She made notes about which songs might be added to the bookshop’s playlist.
The evening was warm, so Charlotte sat out on the large balcony to eat. Rosie had mentioned in passing that the apartment was built by the family who originally owned the building so they could run what was then a bakery and be close to work.
Imagine the smells wafting up.
Directly across the road, an alley ran between two old buildings to the next street. A car park was on a corner. For such a small population, the town sprawled with shops and cafes over four or five blocks. Further up was the small park where Rosie had lunch. Charlotte really needed to go for a long walk and get to know the town better.
What made the town special though were the decorations. Not only in the shops, but the streets. Streetlamps and trees were covered in fairy lights. At the far end of the main road was a roundabout and, in its centre, a tall Christmas tree. Artificial, but quite impressive with layers of purple and silver baubles the size of basketballs and a giant star on the top. At night, it was brightly lit.
Dinner finished, Charlotte washed up, yawning enough to decide an early night was in order. Perhaps a chapter or two of her book first. Or three.
Chapter Four
This time it wasn’t a clap of thunder rousing Charlotte from sleep, but shattering glass. A lot of it. Not even bothering to find her errant slippers, she had the dressing gown around herself in seconds and was peering through the window. The sky was clear, and the main road was quiet. But she hadn’t imagined the sound.
The silence was broken as tyres squealed and a motor revved. Charlotte sprinted to the balcony, wrinkling her nose at the stench of burnt rubber. Below, a car streaked past. A dark coloured ute, with of all things, a Christmas tree in the back, tinsel trailing behind. It turned the next corner with another screech and ornaments bounced down the road.
What on earth?
Charlotte stared back where it came from. Huge shards of glass covered the footpath and road outside the ladies’ boutique.
There was no clanging alarm. Nobody else was around. And Charlotte didn’t even know if Kingfisher Falls had a police station.
She threw on jeans, T-shirt and runners, grabbed her keys and phone, and tore down the stairs. At the bottom, she dialled police emergency, then headed for the boutique.
Emergency services answered and put her through to the police. She answered their questions as she hurried there. They asked her to wait near the scene.
Sure, where else would I want to be in the middle of the night?
After hanging up, she checked the time. Three in the morning. Not promising for getting back to sleep.
She took a lot of photographs. Glass spread across every surface in the radius of the shop was from a full pane. There was glass inside as well, but she wasn’t going to do more than zoom in with the phone camera. Charlotte searched on the internet for the shop but there was no website, after hours number, or even an email address to be found, only the landline. She dialled this in the hope it might be redirected at night, but after hearing it ring out in the shop gave up.
The minutes ticked past. Charlotte planted herself under a streetlamp a little further up the street. Running out here alone in a town she didn’t know just after a break-in, was beginning to feel like a stupid decision. She could have called the police from the balcony. Instead, she was by herself with not another soul in sight.
The sound of a car approached. What if it was the thief coming back for a second go? Her heartbeat increased as the car came through the roundabout. But it was a police car, which pulled over on the opposite side of the road.
Charlotte shoved the phone into her pocket and began to cross.
The car door swung open. “Stay where you are!” A heavyset man in tracksuit pants and singlet hauled himself out, eyes on Charlotte.
Planning on shooting me if I don’t?
Telling her sarcasm to stay quiet, she stopped as he strapped a police belt around his gut. If she was the perpetrator, she’d be long gone at this rate. He finally slammed the door and lumbered toward her.
“Is your accomplice inside?”
“My what?”
“Don’t smart mouth me, missy. Who else did this with you?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “For goodness sake. I phoned you. The person who did this drove that way,” she pointed. “in a dark coloured ute. With a Christmas tree on the back.”
Up close, the man smelt of sweat and was in his fifties. Maybe older.
“Identify yourself.” He barked.
“No. You show me identification. For all I know, you stole the police car.”
Great. One minute in a new town and you’ll be arrested.
She forced her voice to be calm. “I heard the glass break and phoned the police.”
He looked her up and down. “I’m Senior Constable Sid Browne.”
Browne? Surely not.
“Nice to meet you. I am Charlotte Dean.”
“Did you say Christmas t
ree?” He crunched his way to the open window.
“There’s ornaments all the way along the road.”
Sid pulled a flashlight from the belt and stepped inside. “You sure nobody’s in here?”
“Not at all. I’ve told you what I saw. I’m hardly going to interfere with a crime scene by stepping all over it.”
“Crime scene.” He laughed. “Everyone’s an amateur sleuth.”
“No, but I’ve been around crime scenes and there are protocols to follow.”
“Like getting someone at this hour to clean this mess up.” He came back outside, scrolled through his phone, and dialled a number.
He turned what Charlotte decided were beady eyes on her again. She stared back. His shoulders were hairy. Funny the things one notices.
“This is Senior Constable Sid Browne. Someone’s broken into your shop, so I need you down here.” He listened, looking bored. “Instead of having a meltdown, hurry up and bring a broom. It’s a mess.” He hung up.
Charlotte knew her eyes widened.
“What is it with you females? Hysterical over nothing.”
“Right. I’ll be going home now.”
“I need your details. But I haven’t got my notebook.”
“Pity. Anyway, I work at the bookshop, so am easy to find.”
Sid crossed his arms, his face even sourer. “So, you’re the new girl. When’s Rose leaving then?”
“You’d need to ask her. Goodnight.” Charlotte walked away, not trusting herself to stay near the man for a second longer. She’d dealt with many police officers over the years through the course of her work, not only as an expert witness, but counselling people on both sides of the law. This was the first time she’d wanted to punch one.
And then there was Trev. The corners of her mouth involuntarily lifted. Rosie’s son, and the sole police officer in River’s End. And nothing like the one here.
Outside the bookshop, Charlotte stopped and glanced back. Sid still watched her.
Creepy, nasty man.
Perhaps she should stay to make sure he didn’t bully the poor woman whose shop was violated. From the alley across the road, a sound, a crunch sounded. Charlotte pulled her keys out and climbed back up the stairs.
Chapter Five
“I hope you don’t think this town is overrun with mean people.” Rosie handed books to Charlotte from the counter, where she was unpacking a delivery. “And most of the book club ladies are nice. I promise.”
“Hm. Let’s see.” Arms filled, Charlotte tried and failed to count her fingers. “The meanies so far are Mrs Morris, Mrs Browne, and Mr Browne.”
“Senior Constable Browne to you.” Rosie grinned.
“Not in tracksuit pants and singlet. He’s just good old Sid.” She glanced around to make sure they were alone. “How does he have the job instead of someone like…”
“Trev?” The smile faded and Rosie busied herself. “He’s been here a long time and finds a way to stay firmly entrenched.”
“But we’re not a country where local politics plays a role in choosing the police. Surely there’s been enough complaints to have him removed?”
“Most of us just avoid him. Once you’ve put these on the shelves, please take some money from petty cash and run over to the cakeshop. I think a selection of pastries might cheer up poor Esther.”
All morning, Rosie and Charlotte had taken turns checking outside on the progress around the boutique. Much earlier, from the safety of the balcony, tea in hand, Charlotte had seen Esther and a short, balding man that Rosie later assured her was her husband, arrive. Esther had stood on the road, hands over her mouth until her husband wrapped his arms around her. At least she’d had another person there to keep Sid off her back.
As a glass company installed a new window, a car with a security logo had arrived. Once it left, Rosie said it was time to offer some sympathy and comfort.
“I’m okay to stay here if you’d like to go, Rosie.”
“Actually, that would be good, if you’re sure?”
Of course, the minute Rosie left, customers filled the shop. Charlotte darted between people with a word here, a book recommendation there, checking everyone was fine before starting over again. It was fun. Frantic but fun.
“Now, how may I assist?” Charlotte was aware of someone in the back of the shop but only reached them as they turned around. “Senior Constable Browne. And you are in the mystery and thrillers section!”
“I don’t read.”
“That’s a shame. I have a new true crime book that is heavy on procedure—”
“I’m here to discuss the break in.”
Charlotte glanced around the shop. They were alone. Even though Sid wore a police uniform now, Charlotte was uncomfortable. Something about the way he stared, the slight smirk, unnerved her.
“Happy to help, but if customers come in, I’ll need to attend to them.”
He pulled out a notebook, ran his thumb over a white-coated tongue, and flicked to a blank page. “I’ll need your full name, address, date of birth, previous address—”
“No. I’m merely a person who heard a noise and then saw a car. I am not involved with the break in. My name is Charlotte Dean, and I live upstairs.” She raised her chin, eyes steady.
“I think I’ll decide what information I want, missy.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, Senior Constable, so what questions do you have?”
Sid’s beady eyes narrowed, and his face reddened from the neck up. He snapped his notebook shut. “Don’t make an enemy of me.”
“Hello, Sid.” Rosie called from the doorway. “You look a bit hot and bothered.”
He turned to go, then paused. “I’m going to find out what your story is. Missy.” He sneered.
Charlotte kept her back straight until he was out of the shop, then she took a deep breath. She folded her arms, so Rosie wouldn’t see her hands shake. “Well, he is a charmer.”
A coffee and delicious pastry later, Charlotte had stopped fuming. Or at least, she’d relegated the powerful emotions to her ‘later’ mental file.
“Does he call every woman ‘missy’?” she wiped her fingers on a napkin.
“No. But he generally finds something derogatory. We tend to ignore it, like you did. May I have that cupcake? I am ravenous!”
Charlotte pushed the box across. “Thanks for these. I’m sure Esther was touched with the box you got her.”
“She’s rattled, Charlie. And who can blame her? I can’t recall crime like that…well, not for a long time. I wish Sid took it seriously.”
“Yup. Not a question about the make or colour of the ute. Much more interested in my previous employment.”
Rosie finished a mouthful, her expression annoyed. “None of his business. You’re going to be a local, so he can take his questions and—”
“Rosie!” Charlotte giggled. “It’s okay, I can handle him.”
But could she? What if he did dig around in her past, particularly back to her life in Queensland? There were things she wasn’t proud of, and whilst she’d never broken the law, some people believed she’d done something just as bad. Probably they were correct.
“Where’s that smile? That doughnut won’t eat itself.”
With a fake sigh, Charlotte picked it up and looked at it from every angle. “Your son once asked me if I was a runner.”
“Did he now?”
“I scoffed. Running requires a commitment to pain I just can’t find. But…” she moved the doughnut close to her lips. “Many more of these and I’ll have to take it up.”
“He’ll be thrilled. Give him yet another thing in common with you.” Rosie laughed as Charlotte almost choked on her bite of yumminess. “Have another. I’ll go and buy more.”
She might have joked around at the time, but the memory of the whole conversation with Trev followed Charlotte around all afternoon. She remembered it so well.
It was the day before the wedding of her best friend, Christie.
Charlotte was at the end of the jetty in River’s End, a place most people seemed to gravitate to when they wanted to think. Or propose. Even break up.
She’d sat there for a while, reading, but also gazing at the ocean as the smell of sea air filled her senses. Trev was running on the beach. He’d gone up and down a couple of times before spotting her. Or at least, that’s what she thought. They hadn’t seen each other since getting back from visiting Rosie, and the series of problems he’d had to solve.
He’d stepped onto the jetty and stopped. Perhaps he didn’t want to intrude.
“It’s a public jetty.” she called over her shoulder. A moment later, he was beside her. They did some small talk and she’d tried not to focus on his good physique.
Trev wriggled into a T-shirt and asked her if she was a runner.
“Not unless I have somewhere urgent to go to.” She wanted him to believe that was the only time, but she did run sometimes. When things got too hard.
“You look like you do. Run.” He said.
“Hot and sweaty? I’m teasing.” She’d replied. “I have lucky genes. At least where body shape is concerned.”
“What about the rest of your genes?” his question was innocent, banter, but it cut deep in a part of her she kept from herself, let alone anyone else. He hadn’t noticed, but her fingers had gone straight to the elasticized bracelet she wore, worrying at it rather than say the wrong thing.
She’d changed the subject and things got awkward. They’d walked along the river that went through a rift in the cliffs. As they’d reached the road, Trev had found something to say. As if trying to put things right that really couldn’t be.
“I spoke to Mum last night. She said to pass on her regards.”
And that was when it hit her. What could be better than starting over because she wanted to, not because she was running away?
She’d asked about Rosie’s bookshop being online. A thousand ideas flooded her mind to make it competitive in a market dominated by the big box stores. The more she talked about it, her enthusiasm rising, the more crestfallen Trev seemed.
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