Deadly Start

by Clark Phillipa Nefri

  “Are you okay?” she’d finally asked. “Does it make you sad talking about this?”

  He’d encouraged her to follow her heart. It wasn’t as though they were together, or even dating. But there was a certain something, a bond of sorts. And she missed him.

  Whatever would he think about Sid?

  Chapter Six

  The flood of customers through the bookshop seemed never ending. By the time Saturday closing came, Rosie looked as tired as Charlotte felt. Her feet ached, back hurt, and never in her life had she talked so much. Particularly not small talk.

  “Enjoy tomorrow.” Rosie went out through the back door, with Charlotte locking it behind them both. “Take the day to enjoy a rest.”

  “How far away do you live?” Charlotte walked around to the front of the store along a narrow driveway.

  They stopped outside the bookshop.

  “Only two blocks. I have a car but keep it for longer excursions. And shopping. Tomorrow I intend to start planning Christmas Day. You will come for dinner?”

  A flutter of nerves played in Charlotte’s stomach. “Oh, um, I hadn’t given Christmas any thought.”

  Rosie smiled. “Exactly what I thought. Darling, you don’t need to come along because I invite you. If you prefer a day to yourself, then take it. But I would love the company. I do enjoy Christmas, very much. You don’t even have to let me know in advance, I’ll text you my address and you can drop in anytime.”

  “Oh, thank you. I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

  “As if you ever could be.”

  With a wave, Rosie turned the wheelchair and picked up speed. Charlotte’s stomach settled, warmth replacing the flutters. She was unaccustomed to the kindness shown to her in the past year. Until River’s End, she’d had colleagues and some close acquaintances, but never a real friend, the type who’d stand by you when you made big mistakes.

  And have I made some of those.

  Charlotte had no idea why she was worrying about the past when her present was so nice. She doubled back to the stairs and went to the apartment. After a long glass of water, she changed into shorts and T-shirt and runners. A walk around town was exactly what she needed.

  Half the town had the same idea. As she wandered along the main street, Charlotte recognised a few people who’d been into the bookshop. Some said hello, others hurried past with bags of shopping. Kingfisher Falls was almost three times the size of River’s End, but still very much a small town. She’d only explored the main street, so followed the footpath around the corner.

  Even prettier than the main street, this was shorter but closed off both ends to create a plaza. Christmas lights were strung from one side to the other and changed from red to green to gold. A roving Santa rang a large bell, attracting adults and children alike. He carried a basket of red envelopes and let everyone help themselves.

  Charlotte accepted one from him as he passed, thanking him. He ignored her, ho-ho-ho-ing as he walked away. Inside the envelope was a gift voucher to a department store. She recognised the address as being the next town. A large town closer to the city.

  “Excuse me, Santa?” Charlotte ran after him.

  He glanced up but kept walking, so she adjusted her pace to his.

  “Hi Santa, or whoever is in there.”

  Santa stopped to ring his bell a few times and Charlotte waited until more of the envelopes were in the hands of locals. He stalked off again.

  “I’m guessing you are employed by the department store to hand these out.”

  “So?”

  “Bit unfair to the local traders here. Taking business away at the most important time of year.”

  “Take it up with management.”

  “Can you give me the name of someone?”

  “Yeah. Rudolph. Care of North Pole. Now leave me alone.”

  Santa rang his bell in Charlotte’s face.

  She gave him her sweetest smile and wandered away. On Monday she’d talk to Rosie about this. It was a clever idea, one the town itself should be doing to support its own traders.

  In the centre of the plaza was a fountain. Kids played in it, giggling and splashing water around. There were benches all around where parents sat. In the fountain, lights changed colour and reminded Charlotte of the much smaller one at Palmerston House, where she’d lived.

  The end of the road turned into parklands. On either corner was a restaurant. One was Italian, with red and white tablecloths on its outside tables and the delicious smell of pizza making Charlotte’s stomach growl. On the other side, and just as busy, an Indian restaurant added spicy fragrances to the air.

  “Oh, yum.” Charlotte murmured. She’d had every intention of cooking after doing so much shopping, but now, all she longed for was to sit outside and enjoy a meal made by someone else, and people watch. Italian or Indian?

  Indian won. Charlotte scooped up the last of her korma with some naan bread. She sipped on a mango lassi, so cooling after the curry. By the time she’d finished, it was almost dark.

  After paying and thanking her hosts, Charlotte went to the fountain. Not many people were around now, so she sat on one of the benches to watch the lights change beneath the bubbling water.

  “May I join you?”

  A petite, dark haired woman in her forties stood a few feet away, arms around herself. Charlotte was sure she knew who this was from seeing her at a distance.

  “Of course, are you Esther?” Charlotte moved across to make room.

  “Oh, yes, I am. And you are Rosie’s new assistant.” Esther perched on the edge of the seat.

  “I’m Charlotte Dean. Or Charlie. I’m so terribly sorry about the break-in. Do you know what was stolen?”

  “One Christmas tree and decorations. Nothing else.”

  “No money or clothes? My goodness, what a lot of effort for a tree.”

  “Replacing that window just took any profit I might have made this week. But that isn’t why I stopped here. I wanted to thank you for trying to help. Going out at that hour to stand by the open shop…” Esther’s voice faltered, and her eyes teared up.

  “Anyone would do the same. I can’t stand crime and you didn’t deserve this.” Charlotte went into Dr Dean mode. “This was done to you, and none of it is your fault. I think whoever did this will be caught and then—”

  “No, they won’t be.” Despite interrupting, Esther’s voice was quiet, her head down. “Sid didn’t even take photos or fingerprints. He told us to clean up and he’d file a report. Nothing ever changes.”

  Charlotte opened her mouth and closed it. She’d pegged Sid as chauvinistic and lazy, but this went beyond a joke. She pulled her phone out. “I took photos. Can’t help with fingerprints, and if nothing was found at the scene that might have broken the window then they brought it with them and took it again.” She flicked through the gallery. “But you’ll need these for the insurance claim at the least.”

  “I can’t believe you did this. When we got there, we didn’t even think about claims, just doing what Sid said. But without a witness, who’ll believe us?”

  “I didn’t see what happened, but I’m happy to tell anyone what I saw afterwards. A dark ute with the tree in the open back flying past my place. They took the next right. And I heard the glass break. I’ve got time stamps on the photos. Where would you like me to send them?”

  Esther swapped phone numbers and Charlotte sent the images to her.

  “You said a dark ute? Do you know what make?”

  “Cars aren’t my thing. Sorry. Might know if I see it again. Does it sound familiar?”

  With a shake of her head, Esther stood. “I couldn’t say. Anyway, there’s so many of them around here.”

  Can’t say, or won’t?

  Charlotte got up. “Are you going back to the shop?”

  “No. I’m waiting to meet Doug. My husband. He’s a chef at Italia. Just saw you and had to say thanks. I’ll run along now.”

  Something was very wrong in Kingfisher Falls. Cha
rlotte didn’t know what was going on, but there was more to this break in than a simple desire to take a Christmas tree.

  Chapter Seven

  Charlotte work up a little after seven the next morning, checking the clock twice. How pleasant to sleep in. No thunder, nor breaking glass. Before settling down, she’d checked all the doors were locked and turned off all the lights. Tiredness from too many nights of interrupted sleep kicked in the moment she climbed into bed.

  After a shower, she took the time to cook breakfast and enjoy coffee on the balcony. The town was quiet and the sky blue, without much heat in the air. From here, the hills were a pretty backdrop to Kingfisher Falls, enticing her with the promise of winding roads and interesting places to discover. She’d collected a map of the area from downstairs, preferring to pore over a real one than cope with those on her phone.

  Within a few kilometres radius there were three other towns. Hanging Rock was a little further away and she decided to leave that for another day. She’d always been intrigued by the story of the curious schoolgirls who disappeared there, not that it was a true story. Or was it?

  She tossed sunscreen, phone, keys, wallet, and hat into a bag, then carefully backed her car from the garage at the back of the driveway and turned onto the street. She’d memorised the way to her first stop. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel in time to an upbeat song as she drove out of town, to an unexplored place.

  The road climbed gradually until as Charlotte rounded a bend, the town was below her. How beautiful it was, with willows following a long creek on one side, and the town on the other. A moment later, the sign for the Christmas Tree farm sent her along a side road. What began as tarmac changed to gravel and she slowed to reduce dust and stones flying everywhere. The road narrowed and she was unsure whether to turn around or keep going.

  But then a big, bright sign on one side declared she’d reached the Christmas Tree farm, and with a small sigh of relief, she followed the driveway. Pine trees of varying sizes were on either side as far as the eye could see, and their fresh smell replaced the dusty one from a moment before. She pulled to one side to let a car and trailer with a tree tied on it pass from the other direction.

  The driveway opened into a huge carpark. There was an old, two storey house at the bottom and on the far side some sheds, where the main activity was going on. She parked and turned off the motor. The buzz of a chainsaw was somewhere nearby amongst the trees, reminding Charlotte that Octavia had accused Darcy of damaging the environment by cutting trees down.

  Charlotte locked the car, then wandered across to the shed, stopping twice as cars with laden trailers passed her. One open-sided building had a sign at the front. Sales. Just behind that was an area with potted trees.

  All were too large for her. There was plenty of room in her house for even the larger trees, but all she wanted was something small to go on the balcony. Right at the back, a smaller tree was on its side, and she righted it.

  Its branches were sparse, and some had browned on the ends. Perhaps this was a reject. She poked the dried-out soil in the pot.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  Straightening up, she looked around. A boy of around seven or eight stood staring at her with his arms crossed. He wore oversized gumboots, shorts and a large, floppy hat, and a T-shirt proclaiming, ‘Christmas Tree Farm Official Helper’.

  “Hello. I’m Charlotte.”

  “That tree’s kinda dead.”

  “I like it. And I think it just needs a bit of water and sunshine.”

  “You some kind of tree doctor?” he stepped a bit closer to peer at the pot. “I think it’s dead.”

  “I might buy it anyway and take a chance on it.” Charlotte bent to pick it up but the boy grabbed it first.

  “I’ll take it for you. Man’s gotta earn a living.” He wrapped both arms around the pot and raised it with a grunt. The tree wobbled around as he carried it through to the shed. A young woman, heavily pregnant, sat behind a long trestle table. On one end were a series of open boxes with ornaments for sale, and then rows of tinsel.

  “Here we go.” The boy placed the tree in front of the table and spoke to the woman. “Customer, Mrs Forest.”

  “Thanks, Lachie. But it really is fine to call me Mum.”

  Charlotte hid a smile at Lachie’s serious response. “No can do, Mrs Forest.”

  “Okay, then. Oh, but that one looks almost dead. Let’s find you something better.” Mrs Forest began to push herself to her feet.

  “I quite like it. I’m a bit of a fixer.” Charlotte held out her hand. “I’m Charlotte.”

  “I’m Abbie. You’re Rosie’s new assistant.”

  Small towns.

  “I am. And I really just want a little tree to put on the balcony, so this one is perfect.”

  Abbie settled again, frowning. “If you’re sure. But I can’t charge you for it.”

  “I’d feel better if you do, Abbie. You’ve put money into growing it. And I need ornaments. I’ve never had my own tree!”

  Charlotte spent a few minutes selecting ornaments and tinsel. A few trees were sold as she browsed, mostly cut trees going straight onto trailers. Darcy waved as he helped lift and secure a tree. After Charlotte paid—which was much less than she thought she should pay—Lachie again hauled the tree into his arms and led the way to her car.

  “I imagine Mum and Dad love having you help out.” Charlotte opened the back door and helped Lachie set the pot on the floor. The tree came up to the roof.

  “Mum can’t…I mean, Mrs Forest can’t lift much so I’m being Mr Forest’s right hand man.”

  “Bet you’ll get something extra nice from Santa.”

  Lachie gave her a stern look. “Santa is for little kids.” But then he sighed and looked down, kicking at the gravel. “Dad says us being together as a family is all we need for Christmas.”

  Oh, sweetheart.

  “Your dad is a wise man. Thanks for helping me, Lachie.”

  Without another word, Charlotte climbed into the car. Looking at the little boy walking back to the shed, she needed the time to blink away unwanted tears before she started the car.

  Back on the gravel road, Charlotte hugged the side as more cars headed to the farm. Lachie had hit a nerve. Or two. The other day, Rosie mentioned the farm was struggling, so perhaps Darcy was preparing his son for a quiet Christmas.

  Lots of kids have nothing for Christmas. Lots of families are apart at this time of year.

  Charlotte eased the tight grip she had on the steering wheel. Her body was tense, but she couldn’t pull over along here to stop and do some deep breathing.

  A car loomed behind and it took a second for Charlotte to recognise it was a police car. And with its lights on. She crawled to a standstill on the very edge of the road and the police car parked right behind. One by one, Charlotte unclenched her fingers and by the time Sid lumbered to her door, she managed a questioning smile.

  “You’re driving too slowly for the conditions. Probably cause an accident. Been drinking?”

  Not so much as hello.

  “Not much of a drinker, Sid. Particularly not in the morning.”

  “Senior Constable Morris. We’re not friends. Driver’s licence.” He held out his hand. More like a paw with hair over the knuckles.

  Charlotte slid her licence from her wallet. “There you go, Senior Constable Morris.”

  He stomped off to his car and got in.

  In the side mirror, Charlotte watched a dark car hurtle along the road, followed by a plume of dust. The driver was driving too fast and as his car passed Charlotte, stones flew into the air. One hit the windscreen with a thud. Dust covered Charlotte as she pushed the door wide open. The car was a ute, and it was impossible to see the number plates through the dust.

  She coughed as she inspected a large chip in the middle of the windscreen. “Damnit.”

  “Watch how you speak to me, missy.”

  “I didn’t know you were there. See this?”

>   “Probably gonna break the glass. I’d get that fixed.” He smirked.

  “Why don’t you chase the idiot who just did this?”

  Sid gazed down the road, where the ute was turning onto the main road. “Didn’t see anyone. Sit back in your car. Gonna breathalyse you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Charlotte was too angry to continue her trip around the region and headed home. Sid had kept her for almost half an hour, checking her car from top to bottom when the breathalyser refused to give him the reading he wanted. Then, he’d sat in his car with her driver’s licence. Instead of marching up to him and demanding it back, she profiled him.

  Definitely a bully, with a decent dose of narcissist. Probably insecure. Add the misogyny and superiority complex and he became a nightmare in this job. Out here, with few checks and balances, he’d run things his way.

  When he’d eventually held out her licence, she’d been able to consider him with a little pity added to the mix. He needed help.

  She parked in the garage, glaring at the chip in the windscreen. This was something she’d need to get fixed but at least she wouldn’t need the car for a while. That ute though. What she’d seen beneath the dust was familiar. If it was the one from the other night, then she wanted to find it. Sid saying he’d seen nothing gave a whole new element to this.

  Was he part of it? Or just knew the culprit and didn’t want to do anything. Either way, he wasn’t the person for the job.

  And you are?

  As she lugged the tree upstairs, she grinned at herself. Charlotte Dean, Private Eye. If the bookshop didn’t work out, she could pursue the life of a private investigator. Smiling helped. Enjoying the small kick of serotonin, she grinned again.

  At the top of the stairs was a small landing near the door. And a box took up much of the space. Taped on top was a handwritten note.