by Sonia Parin
“It’s all organized. I typed up Dermot’s detailed instructions a couple of years ago. He was very particular about the music he wanted played at his service and the guest list... He’d even written his own obituary.” Faith sighed. “I hate talking about him in the past tense.”
Abby sat up. “Had he been ill?”
“Ill? No, not that I know of. He’d been fit. Every day he used to walk around town stopping for a chat with people.”
“Was that a habit with him or did he take up walking on doctor’s orders?” Maybe the signs had been there but no one had noticed.
“He was a health fanatic and a vegetarian, which made him a bit of an oddity in these parts.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s cattle country. You’re staying at the pub. Just look at the menu. They serve slabs of meat. Although, the new chef they hired a while back made some changes to the menu.”
“So, he didn’t have a pre-existing condition,” Abby mused. That meant there’d be a post mortem to determine cause of death. “Well, even healthy people have to meet their end.”
“There’s another call,” Faith said, “Do you mind holding?” Faith didn’t wait for her to answer.
Abby frowned and decided she had to be in shock and in need of someone to talk to. Shortly after she came back on the line.
“Sorry about that. It was Sebastian Cavendish. He’s already been informed.”
“How did he sound?” Abby asked, her reporter’s curiosity kicking in.
Faith answered distractedly, “He always sounds brisk. As if he’s ticking a task off a list but he was polite enough to ask about me. It’s strange. I didn’t actually expect to hear from him.”
“Why not?”
“He’s the type to delegate. He has scores of people to pick up the slack. Anyway, he wanted to know if Dermot had made funeral arrangements and he wants to go through some documents tomorrow.”
“He’s coming to Eden now?”
“Yes, although he said it might be a while before the body is released. I guess he wants to start getting the ball rolling.” Faith moaned. “I’m never going to find a job as good as this one. And now I just heard myself. Sorry, I’m still in shock.”
“How about you meet me at the pub for a drink,” Abby suggested.
“Yes, please.”
“Give me half an hour to freshen up.” Abby looked at her suitcase. She didn’t see any point in unpacking now so she rummaged through it for a change of clothes but left everything else for later on.
Faith sat at the bar talking with Mitch Faydon. As Abby approached, she heard the drone of conversation drop down to a soft hum. Everyone’s attention shifted to her.
“Faith, do you want to get a table? I wouldn’t mind having a bite to eat. I skipped lunch, or maybe it was breakfast. Hard to say.”
They moved over to a corner table next to a window overlooking the main street and the mountain ranges beyond.
“Word’s spread like wild fire,” Faith said, “Everyone knows.”
“I guess they also know I’m the one who found Dermot Cavendish.”
Faith nodded. “I didn’t say anything. It must have been the neighbor.”
“You’ll have to point her out to me.” Abby had a quick look at the menu and ordered a steak and fries.
“I’ll have the same because if I don’t, I’ll end up stealing your chips,” Faith said.
Abby smiled and made a mental note to switch from fries to chips. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask. Is it normal for a detective to attend to an emergency call in a small town?” Abby remembered a couple of police officers arriving first and then the detective. She didn’t know much about crime procedures but assumed a death would first have to be identified as suspicious before the big guns were called in.
“I don’t think so. A police officer would be first on the scene.”
“So what’s the crime rate like in the area?” Abby asked.
“There are occasional speeding infringements and a bunch of local hooligans keep the police entertained. Anything else is unheard of.”
“No murders?”
Faith gave a slow shake of her head. “Not in my lifetime. Why do you ask?”
“I’m wondering why a detective was called in on the scene.”
Faith nodded. “Dermot was a prominent figure in the community. Also, he was a Cavendish. That’s a big name in this country.”
And beyond, Abby thought and rubbed her temple. “Did I imagine it, or did you say it might be a while before the body is released for burial?”
“That’s what Sebastian Cavendish said.”
“So, the death is suspicious,” Abby mused.
Faith leaned forward. “What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing.”
“You think someone had something to do with his death?”
Abby cleared her throat. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you suggested it. And not for the first time.”
Abby shrugged. “I’m jet lagged and hungry.”
Lowering her voice, Faith asked, “What if someone killed him? That would be huge news for us. Everyone will want to be kept up to date.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. He might have died of natural causes. And... If his grandson is determined to shut down the newspaper I doubt he’ll postpone doing it just to give everyone a free update.”
Faith sighed and looked out the window.
“Is it true?” Mitch Faydon set a basket of bread on the table.
Abby looked up and smiled, but before she could say anything, Faith jumped in and said, “Yes, it’s true. The earth is round.”
Mitch gave Faith a knowing smile and turned to Abby. “Let me guess, you’ve been asked not to say anything.” He shrugged and arranged the cutlery on the table. “Here’s a newsflash for you. The cat’s already out of the bag.”
“Is that what everyone here is talking about?” Abby asked innocently.
He shrugged. “Mostly, but they’re also curious about you.”
Abby made an open hand gesture. “I’m an open book.”
Mitch flashed her a brilliant smile. “You also happen to be the person who found Dermot. How can we be sure he was already dead when you found him?”
Abby curved her eyebrows. “You’re kidding.”
The edge of his lip lifted. “We don’t know anything about you.”
“Mitch has a point,” Faith piped in.
Abby sat back and folded her arms. “And yet, the detective I spoke with didn’t say anything about not leaving town.”
“Did he get your contact details?” Mitch asked.
He had.
“Does he know where you’re staying?”
Abby bit the edge of her lip and nodded.
“What’s his name?”
“Detective Inspector Ryan.”
Mitch chortled. “Joshua.”
“He’s a local?” Abby asked.
Mitch nodded. “He’s a fox. He wouldn’t give anything away. I hate playing poker with him. And he has a way of getting people on side.”
He’d given her coffee... As a way to gain her trust? “What are you suggesting?”
“Only that if there’s anything suspicious about Dermot’s death, Joshua will get to the bottom of it. Slow and steady. I’d watch out for him, he tends to wear down his prey. And if you’re thinking of making a run for it, be warned, there’s only one main road out of town. He’ll have someone watching it. At this point, your only chance will be to head for the hills... on foot, and then cut across country. If you’re fit, you might make it to the next town, but I’d advise against that since by then, Joshua would have put an alert out on you.”
“An alert?” Abby’s head spun. “Why are you telling me this?”
Mitch Faydon grinned. “Apart from the news about Dermot, it’s been an unusually slow day. In fact, this entire year has been slow.”
Abby’s voice filled with disbelief. “And you
’re taking your boredom out on me?”
“I just thought I’d warn you about Joshua.” Mitch Faydon gave her a bright smile. “It’s all part of our customer service.”
Was he serious? And had Detective Joshua Ryan already started working on lowering her defenses by giving her the best coffee she’d had in a long while? “I stand warned,” Abby said, getting into the spirit of it. When in Rome... do as the natives do, even if it meant walking on the wild side of loony. She took a sip of water. “When was the last time you saw Dermot alive or dead?” she asked Mitch.
He laughed. “Trick question. I like you.”
Faith cupped her chin in her hand. “You didn’t answer Abby’s question.”
“Do I look like a killer to you?”
Faith shrugged. “I’ve never met one.”
“Well, I’m in the clear. Dermot came in yesterday... mid-afternoon. He caught up with a couple of his old friends.”
“How does that put you in the clear?” Faith asked. “He was killed today.”
“How do you know that?” Mitch asked. “Just because Abby found him soon after she arrived in Eden doesn’t mean he died this morning.”
Abby shook her head. “Did you talk to him yesterday?”
“I asked how he was doing, as you do. He talked a bit about a snoopy reporter coming to work for him and how he wished he’d done a more thorough job of checking her references because, for all he knew, he might have hired a serial killer.” His eyes twinkled with amusement.
Abby gave him a brisk smile. “Were you on good terms with him?”
“Meaning... did I have a reason to want him dead? The police will have a hard time finding anyone who disliked Dermot.”
Their conversation suddenly struck her as odd. What if Dermot hadn’t died of natural causes? She’d been the first on the scene and the one to raise the alarm. Would she become a suspect? And if so, how would she prove her innocence? Abby visibly shivered. “Joking aside, I worked a murder trial once and it put me off for life.”
“Nothing like this has ever happened in these parts,” Mitch said, “It’s only been a few hours and it’s all anyone can talk about. If the cause of death turns out to be something other than natural causes, the pub’s in for a busy time. Everyone will come into town to get updates.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Faith said. “It’ll mean there’s a killer among us. Someone we know. Someone we trust. Maybe someone we don’t think twice about letting inside our home or...” her voice rose slightly, “someone who pours our beer every day.”
Abby looked around. “I was looking forward to living and working in a quiet little town. I guess that’s not going to happen now.”
Chapter Four
“Ready to order?” the waitress asked.
Abby had to force herself to focus. She’d managed to get some sleep, but not nearly enough to clear the cobwebs from her mind. She didn’t think she’d ever read such an unusual and extensive menu. “I’m after a cup of coffee,” she ventured. She’d woken up in the middle of the night and had called her mom to let her know she’d arrived safe and sound. The conversation had been hard to keep up with as she’d dozed off several times. Waking up that morning, her brain had fixed on the immediate need for a shot of caffeine, specifically, one from Joyce’s Café.
“You sound overwhelmed.”
And now she felt it. Thoroughly. Good manners fell by the wayside as she gave the server a head to toe sweep. Audrey Hepburn came to mind. Dressed in an outfit straight out of a fifties movie, her bright red lips lifted in a knowing smile.
“You’re the new reporter.”
Abby nodded and introduced herself.
“I’m Joyce Breeland. The owner.” She tilted her head. “Did my menu confuse you?”
“It actually mesmerized me.” Abby gazed down at the menu. “The Marcel Proust. The Midnight Express with or without a swagger?”
“They’re the coffees for serious drinkers and yes, they will help you connect the dots.”
That made sense. The French author, Marcel Proust, had been a night owl with an addiction for coffee. “And the swagger?” Abby asked.
“That’s a dash of Brandy or Cognac. It’s popular in winter and late evenings.”
“I’ll... I’ll have The Midnight Express without the swagger. And I see you don’t have egg white omelets. Any chance I might get one?” Abby looked up in time to see Joyce Breeland purse her lips. Had she hit a raw nerve?
“We don’t do compromises,” Joyce Breeland said, her tone polite yet firm. “Either you have eggs or you don’t.”
“I guess you feel strongly about that.”
Joyce Breeland gave a small shrug. “Hannah at the pub does a great egg white omelet.”
Abby tried to hide her surprise. She was used to a less unique style of service. “Is there, by any chance, a story behind all this?”
Joyce’s gaze danced around the café. “It’s a small town. We tend to create our own entertainment so I’m going with, yes... there’s a story. The one about the eggs probably started with Mitch—”
“Mitch Faydon, from the pub?”
“Yes. We don’t always see eye to eye.”
“So, there’s an ongoing dispute about egg white omelets.”
Joyce’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Not as such, and nothing is ever really serious.”
“I see.” Abby brushed her hand across her face. Maybe she had stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone or she’d fallen through a rabbit hole. “Out of curiosity, do you know anything about the Lamington wars?”
“Oh yes, and it’s not a war. It’s just a saga that’s been going on for ages. Why do you ask?”
“I’m... I was supposed to do a feature on it. To tell you the truth, I haven’t actually had time to do any research. What exactly are Lamingtons?”
“There’s a picture on page five.” Joyce flicked through the menu and found the page for her. “They’re a quintessential Australian cake, made from squares of sponge cake coated in an outer layer of chocolate sauce and rolled in desiccated coconut. The ongoing dispute is about variety. Some say you should only use strawberry jam for the filling, others are more liberal minded and enjoy experimenting.”
“Where do you stand?”
Joyce gave her a small smile. “I’m neutral. I can’t afford to express opinions that will alienate my customers.”
And yet, she appeared to feel strongly about the egg white omelet... and the more Abby thought about it, the more she wanted one, but her need for coffee took precedence. She didn’t dare risk being asked to leave Joyce’s Café.
“I’ll have a couple of Sunny Side Up Eggs and some toast, thanks.” Her health kick could wait another day.
“Great choice.”
Joyce Breeland didn’t move away. Instead, she handed the order to another waitress. “I hear you’re the one who found Dermot.”
Did everyone know? “News travels fast.”
Joyce sighed. “He came in here every morning for a cup of tea. This was his favorite table.” Joyce ran her hand along the back of the chair. “It’s going to take a long while to get used to not seeing him around town.”
“Would you like to join me?” Abby asked. She wasn’t surprised to find Joyce didn’t need to be asked twice.
Joyce settled down opposite her. “I was about to take my break. I usually sit at that corner table and flick through my magazines.”
But in times of loss, Abby thought, most people avoided being alone and looked for company to share anecdotes and reminisce.
“Everyone knew him,” Joyce continued.
“I’m surprised he chose to live here.” Abby shrugged. “I mean, he is... was a Cavendish.”
“He wouldn’t have it any other way. Even when he was running the big newspaper in the city, he preferred to delegate and spend most of his time here.”
Abby tried to remember what she’d read about him. He’d been a widower for a number of years and h
ad never remarried.
“In fact, he liked it so much here,” Joyce continued, “He chose to live in town instead of at the big house.”
“The big house?”
“The Cavendish family owns a huge house in the area, Castle Lodge, up in the hills.”
“We are in the hills.”
“Further up. It’s massive and not the sort of house you’d expect to find around here. Dermot’s great-grandfather brought in an architect from Europe and most of the fixtures and fittings were imported. I think they even imported the grand staircase.”
“But he didn’t live there.”
“No, he preferred his cottage in town. Castle Lodge has been closed for years, although they still have a caretaker and his wife. The family used to come up for weekends and longer stays in winter for the skiing. But that was before my time.”
“I didn’t see much of the inside of Dermot’s house but I noticed he had a vast collection of books.”
Joyce smiled. “Dermot loved to read. He was a passionate collector and loved to talk about books.”
Belatedly, Abby wished she’d paid more attention to his bookshelves. She gazed out the window and wondered what might have been. The brief phone conversations she’d had with Dermot had been informal enough to come across as friendly.
“Do you know what’s going to happen to the Gazette?” Joyce asked.
“I wish. I’ve come a long way and I’d hate to turn back now. From what I’m told, Dermot’s grandson is not likely to be interested in keeping the newspaper going.”
“Worse comes to worst, we’ll figure something out.”
Abby frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Someone could come along and buy it. We need a local newspaper.”
“Not really. At the risk of doing myself out of a job, someone could set up a blog online.”
“We already have one of those. Set up by someone who calls herself the Eden Bloggess.”
“You don’t sound happy about it.”
“It’s anonymous and I’m not comfortable having someone secretly hovering around and eavesdropping on conversations. It makes me self-conscious.”
Abby couldn’t help smiling. After only a few minutes, she picked up on Joyce Breeland’s idiosyncrasy. When she spoke, she sounded serious, but her smile wasn’t far behind.