With a slight nod, Rosie released her. River’s End suddenly felt very uncomplicated compared to the undercurrents and suspicions of the good—and not so good—people of Kingfisher Falls.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Charlotte walked home with Rosie. The afternoon had been much quieter than the morning, allowing them to catch up on cleaning and restocking. Charlotte had dashed to the bank to deposit the last few days’ takings.
There’d been no more talk about Octavia and, Rosie, although quiet, had regained her composure. When she’d asked Charlotte if she’d like to come over to visit the cats and have a drink, there was no hesitation in answering yes.
At the roundabout they stopped to stare at the fully decorated tree. It was a wonderful sight with its dark green foliage and fairy lights just visible in the still bright afternoon sunshine. “This is what a town tree should be!” Charlotte exclaimed.
“Does River’s End do this?” Rosie started off again and they crossed the road.
“No idea. I arrived early in the year and left…two weeks ago? A bit more?”
“Oh. For some reason I thought you’d lived there for much longer. So, why did you choose to move there?”
“Kind of a strange story. I’d had a patient in Brisbane who talked about the town a few times. He was the one who thought he was the rightful heir to Palmerston House.”
Rosie glanced up with her lips open in surprise. “I know some of this story but what made you want to live there? Did he describe it as somewhere particularly inviting?”
“He’d never been. And I’d had no conscious plan to end up living there.”
No. You just ran away from everything and headed south with nothing but a suitcase.
“I don’t mean to pry, darling.”
A couple approached them walking their dog and said hello to Rosie by name as they passed. The moment gave her a chance to find the right words.
“You can ask me anything, Rosie. Really, anything at all. I just can’t always answer well because there’s stuff in…well, my past, and around work and…it is complicated. About River’s End? I left a bad situation in Queensland and drove where the road took me. When I found myself in Victoria, something made me look up Palmerston House and I discovered it was a bed and breakfast near the sea. Sounded perfect.”
More people passed. Families. Older couples, hand in hand. “Good to see people feeling a bit more secure again.” Rosie commented. “I hope whoever was stealing those trees has given up, or left town. Preferably gone for good.”
They reached Rosie’s street at the same time as Sid’s patrol car drove toward them. He slowed, shooting them a glare.
“Oh, for goodness sake.” Charlotte muttered. “When will he give up this nonsense?”
There was no answer as Rosie turned the corner. When Charlotte glanced down, the other woman’s lips were tight together. Nothing changed until they reached Rosie’s house.
“I love your garden.” Charlotte smelled a flower. “What is this?”
“Freesia. Much of the garden is Graeme’s work.” Her smile was sad. “A legacy I love. Being a cottage style, many of the plants are perennial, so they die down over winter and bless me with beauty the next spring. Of course, autumn has its own share of flowers.”
She opened the front door and wheeled inside, and Charlotte followed, closing and locking it.
“Do you always lock doors? We are in a country town.” Rosie was already in the living room at the bar. “Same as last time?”
“Please. Remember I’m a city girl. My friend, Christie? She is married to a security fanatic—at least where she’s concerned, but I think some of it rubbed off on me.”
“I suppose with all the break-in’s recently, there’s merit in locking up when I’m home. I do though when I’m not here.”
Mellow appeared through a cat door in a window, running to Rosie and jumping straight onto her lap.
“Hello my sweet. Where’s your naughty brother?”
On cue, Mayhem slunk through the door, but did nothing more than acknowledge the humans were here with a twitch of his tail. Charlotte quite liked him. He had attitude.
“Here you go.” Rosie held out a glass. “This one is made in the Barossa Valley. Although best knowns for its wines, there are a couple of lovely little gin distilleries as well. Graeme and I visited several times. Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Charlotte tapped glasses. “How long were you married, if that isn’t too personal. I mean, tell me if I’m overstepping.”
Rosie’s smile was wide. “I love talking about Graeme. We married a little over forty years ago. Please, find a seat.”
The moment Charlotte took a chair, Mellow joined her, curling up on her lap.
“Oh, she does like you! Graeme and I had a wonderful life together. We travelled a lot around Australia and overseas, often so we could indulge our love of deep-sea diving.”
“Trev mentioned you used to do that. And that was where you lost your lower mobility.”
“Stupid accident.” Rosie almost gulped a mouthful, then sat for a moment, hand reached out to Mayhem, who surprisingly wandered across and allowed her to pet him. “Misjudged something and before I knew it, no feeling in my legs. Damned shame really.”
“Very big damned shame.”
“But we adjusted. Moved into this house and had it modified so I could function without too much outside assistance. Trev was young so it was hard on him, seeing his normally super-active mother relearning everything. Nobody thinks about things like the height a wheelchair has you, rather than your own legs.”
Charlotte lifted her glass. “I am in awe. To you.”
“Ha. I’ll toast, but let’s toast to us.”
“Us?”
“Yup. Two strong women against the world.”
“Two strong women, against the world.”
They downed their glasses and laughed. It felt wonderful to let go of the stress and tension of the day. The cats purring became the only sound as Charlotte and Rosie fell into their own thoughts.
Rosie’s head dropped as she stroked Mayhem’s fur. He looked up at her and then stalked off with a growl. “Sorry, Mayhem.” Rosie whispered.
“What’s wrong?”
Tears poured down Rosie’s face. She brushed them aside, but more came. Charlotte found a box of tissues and brought them to her, holding them out and sitting quietly to let Rosie cry. She swallowed to push down her responding empathy. Two people crying wasn’t going to be a good look.
Mellow climbed onto Rosie’s lap and tapped at the tears with her soft paw until Rosie had to laugh at her. With a handful of tissues, she dried the tears and blew her nose.
“Mayhem didn’t like me spilling tears on him. But you,” Rosie kissed Mellow’s head, “you are a comfort.”
“I’d wondered why he told you off.”
Charlotte returned to her chair. Her heart went out to the other woman. Talking about her deceased husband and missing Trev had taken its toll.
“I feel a bit silly.”
“Tears are good for you. They remove toxins amongst other things.”
“Wish I could remove Octavia so easily.” Rosie leaned back in her wheelchair. “What she said feels like a threat against the bookshop.”
“Rosie, you own that building?”
“Yes. The whole of it, upstairs and downstairs.”
“And the rates and stuff are all up to date?”
“Where are you going with this?” Rosie asked. “But yes, not a bill unpaid.”
“I don’t know her. Maybe she makes sweeping statements about people’s livelihoods all the time, but if she can’t touch the bookshop as an entity, then is she the type to try and stop customers shopping with you?”
Rosie held her hand out for Charlotte’s empty glass and went to the bar. “She has some influence. The book club, for one. She is in quite a few organisations for that matter. Presumably, she can say negative things about the shop and turn people off.”
“Small town rumours can be…lethal.”
“Lethal?” Charlotte accepted the refilled glass. “Thanks. That’s a considered word.”
She was certain Rosie wanted to tell her something but wouldn’t.
“Of course, I mean it could be the demise of a business. Look what some of them tried to do to the Christmas Tree farm. And I was speaking to a friend earlier who was up there to buy a tree and apparently they are getting almost no business.”
“Perhaps it is just so close to Christmas?” Charlotte sipped her drink. She was enjoying these early evening chats here in this lovely home, even when they did become emotional.
“True. But Abbie made a comment about Darcy having to borrow some money to pay for the truck and helper to install the roundabout tree. Council aren’t paying him until next year.”
“That’s outrageous!” Charlotte was certain her blood pressure just rose. “How can we help? I’m happy to buy groceries and take up, but will they accept them?”
Rosie shrugged. “You are so sweet, but I don’t know how they’d respond. It would be nice to pull a whole package together for them, apart from the books already earmarked for Lachie.”
The phone rang.
“Let it go to message.” Rosie said. “I’ll call them later.”
For a while, they chatted about the shop and decided to again rearrange the front display window to entice more shoppers. Charlotte updated Rosie on the Facebook page, leaving out the negative review. No point upsetting her even more today.
“Why does Octavia think I’m Trev’s girlfriend?” Charlotte had to ask. It had niggled at her all day. “Apart from the day he brought me to visit you, we’ve never been here together.”
“Think about who else was in the shop that afternoon.” Rosie said.
“Oh. Glenys. But she thought I worked there.”
“And once she found out you didn’t, she put her own slant on things.”
“Well, I need to correct that.” Charlotte’s fingers tapped on her glass. “Which might also take the teeth out of Octavia’s bite.”
“Love that saying. But why bother? Your relationship with my son is nobody else’s business, darling. Not even mine.” Rosie grinned. “Although I’m all ears if you ever want to talk about him.”
“Nope. Nothing to tell. Now, I might head home and see what I can make for dinner.”
“You’re most welcome to stay.”
“Thank you. I have a bit to do though and need to practice cooking. You have no idea how ordinary I am when it comes to culinary arts.” Charlotte took her glass into the kitchen and washed it. “So, don’t ask me to cook anything for Christmas. I do salads though.”
“Then, salads it is. Two if you have time.” Rosie led the way to the front door and opened it. “I love having you here, Charlie. You’re a good girl.”
How could Charlotte tell her otherwise?
This time there were no strangers in masks outside the bookshop. No patrol car crawling past, or Sid smoking across the road. It was still light so maybe that was the key. Get home in light and stay inside.
How ridiculous.
Charlotte opened her laptop and searched a recipe site she’d found the other day. She might practise her salad skills for next week. Recipe selected, she dug around in the fridge. Everything was there except feta and Greek salad wasn’t going to work without it.
At the bottom of the stairs she stopped. Almost dark, and by the time she returned, it would be. She glanced up the stairs, then shook her head and hurried to the street.
She rushed into the supermarket. Feta in hand, and a tub of yoghurt to go with some fresh fruit, she waited at the checkout. Two people ahead of her was a lady whose groceries had been packed into a bag, but her payment was rejected.
“I’m so sorry, I was sure this card had enough on it. I’ll find some cash.”
The cashier rolled her eyes.
Charlotte realised it was Abbie and bit her lip. Would she allow a virtual stranger to help? Abbie rummaged through her wallet, then her handbag, pulling out a couple of notes.
“This is really embarrassing. I thought I had a bit more cash. I’ll need to take something out of the shopping. Um…”
“Excuse me.” Charlotte reached her arm past the other customers. “I think you dropped this.” She handed a twenty dollar note to the cashier in case Abbie refused it. “Nothing worse than dropping money in the supermarket.”
Before anyone could do a thing, she stepped back and avoided eye contact. But someone was behind her in line now. She could smell him.
Sid Browne. Oh, joy.
A couple of minutes later she was through the checkout with her items. Abbie stood outside the supermarket, swapping her bags from one arm to another in discomfort. Charlotte grabbed them. “Where’s your car?”
“You don’t need—”
With a whisper, Charlotte nodded back to the supermarket. “Sid Browne’s behind me and I’d appreciate being with you, if you don’t mind.”
Sid rounded the corner, looking each way. When he spotted Charlotte, he made a move her way.
“Car’s over there, and thank you, this baby is kicking away at the moment and making everything twice as tricky!” Abbie grinned at Charlotte as though they were in a conspiracy, and together they crossed the road.
“Thank you, Abbie. He is the last person I want to engage with.” Charlotte was conscious of him standing on the kerb watching them. “Is this one yours?”
“Until tomorrow. We’ve sold it and the new owner picks it up then.”
The car was a late model hatch in great condition. There was a baby seat in the back. Abby popped the boot and Charlotte lifted the bags in. “You still have the flatbed?”
“Darcy needs that to deliver trees. But nowhere to put the baby seat and Lachie is only just big enough to ride in it with a booster seat. He’s not the tallest of kids. You’re Charlotte? You bought the little dried out tree.”
“It is doing so well! The ends are green now and it gets some sunshine on the balcony.”
“You really shouldn’t have paid for it.” Abbie rubbed her back with a small groan. “And about inside? As soon as we get paid for the car, I’ll bring you the twenty dollars back. That was incredibly generous and discreet.”
“Paying it forward. Big believer in it. Are you open on Sunday? I wouldn’t mind taking a look at some more decorations and stuff.”
“We are. Not that we’ve had many customers lately. It’s almost as though people don’t want to buy from us suddenly.”
“I imagine people have their trees.”
“Sure. Anyway, I need to get this home and feed my hungry boys.” Abbie opened the driver’s door. “Thank you. I mean it.”
“Drive safely.”
Charlotte waited until Abbie’s car was out of sight before moving. She didn’t want Sid following a pregnant woman at night.
Follow me, Senior Constable. I’ll outrun you any day.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Oh, he’s really going to do it.
Charlotte strode along the footpath at a good pace without breaking into the run her brain was urging. She wasn’t about to give Sid Browne a chance to speak to her, not when she was alone. Not to mention hungry.
He tried to keep pace from across the road. His puffing was audible and she considering asking if he needed an ambulance. Instead, she put her energy into keeping her face forward and getting her keys out of her pocket. If he followed her up the stairs, she had no intention of answering the door.
“Oi. Missy!”
Are you kidding me?
When she saw Trev next time, she’d ask what channel to pursue to make a formal complaint. Until that time, she was ignoring the man.
She passed the bookshop and turned into the driveway, now breaking into a jog to get up and inside as fas
t as possible. Heart pounding, she locked the door and rushed to the balcony, opening the sliding door just enough to slip through. She’d left the lights off and kept close to the wall as she edged to the railing.
Doubled over, Sid coughed as he heaved in oxygen on the opposite side of the road. A car pulled over but as the driver got out to check him, he suddenly straightened and waved the man away without so much as a thank you. Even from up here, it was obvious how unfit he was, and he’d not done as much as run. He coughed some more, hands on hips, then glared in the general direction of the balcony.
She kept still. His hand moved to his police belt and he glanced down to unclip a flashlight. Charlotte dived back into the apartment. No way was he catching her watching him. She turned on all the lights, including the balcony’s lone light bulb. Then, she tapped her laptop to wake it up and selected some music. ABBA. Loud.
After pouring herself a glass of wine and sipping a few mouthfuls to settle her nerves, she got around to putting the yogurt into the fridge and getting the salad underway. Lots of olives. Half the block of feta, roughly chopped, and she did mean roughly. A tomato was stabbed into submission and the lettuce torn.
“Take that. And that.”
If only Sid knew what she was doing, he’d probably arrest her for planning his demise. Death by ripping.
She sang along with some songs, letting the catchy music and words take the rest of the tension. If he was still out there, all he’d hear was her reasonably tuneful voice singing seventies songs and have nothing to see.
Once the salad looked pretty on the plate, she topped up her wine, turned off the music, and went onto the balcony. She turned off the overhead light and lit a candle on the table. Much nicer. The rows of coloured lights along the street slowly flashed from green to gold to red and back again. From somewhere down the road—maybe toward the restaurants—Christmas music carried.
She’d forgotten the dressing, so returned to the kitchen and mixed olive oil with balsamic vinegar in a bowl. Back at the table, she spooned some over the salad. Delicious. Yes, this was a definite for Christmas dinner.
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