“Is this what’s upsetting you?” she asked, grabbing the edge of some fabric. When Charlie gave a tug, a kitchen towel came out, spotted with blood. “Oh, no.”
Still holding it by the corner, Charlie banged her hip against the dumpster until the lid fell back into place. She walked back to the store, letting the pug down while she grappled with the handle.
Inside, she dropped the towel into the rear sink and stared in dismay at the find. Not just the blood, although that was terrible, but also the insignia in the corner.
Charlie had been so proud when she designed the interlocking CCCG label. In the first week of the shop opening, she’d had it printed onto their labels, their napkins, and their towels.
The same logo was embroidered on the corner of the bloodstained fabric in front of her. She’d gone to find evidence to clear her name and had implicated herself instead.
Chapter Five
Charlie sat in her living room, Bocconcini dozing on her lap, and stared at the blood-smeared towel. The logo in its corner seemed to mock her the longer she gazed at it, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
It was evidence, and she was now withholding it from the police.
The good fairy on her right shoulder repeated she should take it into the station at once, explain how she found it, and let the conclusions and suspicions fall where they may. The devil on her left said to burn it in the firepit out the back so nobody would ever know of its existence.
Caught in the middle, swayed first by one side, then the other, Charlie couldn’t decide. She wished miserably the police had done a better job and found the cloth themselves.
When the phone rang, she jumped and jerked her head around—as though Detective Wolverton might that very second be staring from the corner of the room. The number on the display was her mum’s, usually a reason to be slightly dismayed, but now Charlie sighed with relief.
“Your shop’s all over the news,” her mother Janis said instead of hello. The woman had been a go-getter from a young age and didn’t let pleasantries slow her down. “They say you stabbed a man and dumped his body outside.”
“Who said that?” Charlie’s voice was so shrill that Bocconcini woke up and barked a reprimand at her.
“Well, the newsreader.”
“They said I murdered someone?”
“Not in so many words,” her mother admitted. “But the inference was clear.”
“It better not be, otherwise I’ll sue them for slander. I’m a suspect because the body was found outside my business premises, nothing more.”
“How much of a suspect?” Janis’s voice narrowed. “If you need me to provide you with a fake alibi or something, count me in.”
“Thanks, Janis.” Charlie and her sisters had called their mother by her first name for as long as she could remember. It had caused quite a stir when they got to school age, even in a town where parental controls tended to be looser. “But I don’t need to take you up on that because I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“The prisons are full of people claiming innocence,” her mother replied in her pragmatic fashion. “Just remember that.”
Charlie’s gaze fell onto the soiled teatowel again. She snatched it up from the table and stuff it into a plastic bin bag, hiding it from view. “I’ll remember but I really don’t think it’ll take long for the police to find the true culprit.”
Her mother’s snort told Charlie what she thought of that.
“How’s Joshua?” He was her mother’s latest partner, seemingly with better sticking power than any other boyfriend she’d had after Charlie’s dad died.
“He’s good. We’ve just signed up for a foraging class to learn the basics so we can live off the land come summer. Apparently, there’s a wealth of wild fruit and vegetables growing with abandon around here. The instructor showed us a haul from January with blackberries, mushrooms, wild plums and elderberries, alfalfa, wild carrot and watercress.”
“Really?” Charlie almost laughed at her mother’s enthusiasm. Every time she stopped long enough to declare she was bored, a new passion would take root and flourish.
“There’s a whole bounty just waiting for the eagle-eyed amongst us to snap it up. Even in the winter, there are a few treasures to be unearthed.”
“If you find some truffles, count me in,” Charlie said with a smile. She closed her eyes as Janis carried on recounting the Hurunui District’s potential. “Who needs to bother keeping a veggie garden up to date when you can go for a short hike and come home with all the fixings for a meal?”
“Who, indeed?”
“How’s the cheese shop doing, aside from having dead bodies pile up behind it?”
“It’s doing fine.” Charlie rubbed a knuckle into her eye, igniting a cascade of sparkling floaters. “The cheese cave is nearly full for the first time since I opened.”
“Remember you promised us a taste of that unpasteurised cheese from the Mackenzie Basin farm when it’s ripe.”
“I’ve got it noted. There’s still another couple of months to go with that one.”
“Good.”
A pause followed, so unlike her mother’s usual rush of conversation that Charlie grew suspicious. “Was there something else?”
“Just, well, you know Mia’s back in town.”
“No, I didn’t.” The last Charlie had heard, she was living in Otago with her boyfriend, supporting him while he completed studies to become a doctor. “What’s happened with Angus?”
“Who knows and who cares? That man was never good enough for her. She needs a companion with spark and vigour, not a wet blanket who likes to study.”
Charlie rolled her eyes and silently petted Bocconcini. With her mother’s diatribes, it was best to just let them dissipate on their own.
“Anyway,” Janis said as her list of complaints about Angus dried up, “Mia needs a job for the next couple of weeks. Just something small to set her on her feet again.”
Despite having told Amanda the exact opposite the day before, Charlie bit the bullet and offered a job to her newly unencumbered sister. “But it can only be part time,” she warned. “I just don’t have the capacity for another full-time employee.”
“That’ll be fine, I’m sure. Mia will flourish at the counter, she’s such a people-person.”
“She’ll be great. When does she want to start?”
“Tomorrow.”
Charlie choked halfway through a swallow. “That soon, huh?”
The protestors would be in full swing again tomorrow. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the wages she’d have to pay out from a dwindling number of customers. “If she can get in before ten, that’ll be great.”
“And remember, if this trouble gets any deeper, I’m here for you, any way I can.”
Charlie smiled, feeling a rush of warmth for her mom. “I’ll remember.”
As she fixed herself a cup of tea, Charlie stared at the bin. Bocconcini showed great interest in the bag, sniffing around its base as though it was stuffed full of doggy treats.
She sipped the cup slowly, considering how easily she’d rebuffed her mother’s offer of an alibi just because it was the right thing to do. The devil on her left shoulder fell into a silent sulk as Charlie realised she didn’t want to be that kind of person.
Even if nobody found out, she’d know and judge herself harshly for the rest of her life if she destroyed the towel. Besides, her logo might look damning on first impression but with the science available through the police labs, there might be evidence just as compelling to clear her of the crime, just needing the application of a DNA analyser and a microscope.
Tipping the dregs of her tea into the sink, Charlie decided she’d give Detective Wolverton a call the next morning. She could work the towel into the conversation and let the chips fall where they may.
Despite the decision, as she tossed and turned in bed that night, Charlie fell in and out of dreams where Ben chased her, a knife sticking out of his chest.
“Why did you kill me?” he shouted in full view of all the protestors. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”
Chapter Six
Charlie woke early the next morning and went to her cheese cave to care for the ripening stock before dawn had even thought of lightening the skyline. As she inhaled the rich scents from the maturing cheeses, her body relaxed, and her mind rid itself of the last vestiges of her dark dreams.
On the drive back to the township centre, she decided to skip Pilates for the day. Any additional relaxation and focus Charlie could expect to gain from the session would be wiped away by the whispered gossip behind her back.
And there would be gossip.
Instead, with a mountain of free time on her hands, Charlie set to work scrubbing the floors of Cheesy Come, Cheesy Go. Partly because no matter how much she and Noah worked to keep the service areas pristine during the working day, the other rooms were neglected. Partly because she didn’t want Mia to walk in and find anything to pick apart.
It was ridiculous to try so hard to impress her little sister, but Charlie had never overcome the urge. Mia was everything Charlie wasn’t. Outgoing, outspoken, the life of the party.
Even the thought her sister would be unemployed today without her didn’t combat her need to impress. After the floors of the cloakroom and bathroom were gleaming, Charlie pulled everything out of the cupboards and scrubbed down their surfaces.
“Don’t go in there, Bocconcini,” she called out more than once. “If you hide in the cabinets, I might not remember you’re here until lunchtime.”
She turned on the radio to keep her company, then listened with horror as the talkback show began to dissect the murder case. A woman calling in began a tirade against the police. “We all know who stabbed him to death. Why haven’t the police arrested Charlotte Hewitt?”
The host attempted to calm the irate woman. “Now, we don’t know she harmed him, it’s just supposition at this stage.”
“Ben was found outside the cheese shop, holding one of their cups in his hand, and stabbed to death with one of their knives!”
“We haven’t had the last piece of information confirmed—”
Charlie flipped the switch to change the station, letting the easy-listening music flow out with a grateful exhalation. “What a load of nonsense,” she told Bocconcini in a shaky voice. “It’s not as though they’d even be able to tell if it was one of our knives, they’re not branded. Besides”—she reached for the next cupboard along and pulled it open—“all my knives are present and accounted for.”
A sharp intake of breath followed the realisation the knife block had an empty slot.
Ten minutes later, Charlie was certain the missing knife wasn’t anywhere on the premises. She’d gone as far as pulling out the dishwasher to check in behind, in case it had somehow floated through the metal back of the machine to lodge there.
“Someone’s setting me up.”
Bocconcini raced in a circle, yapping at the pronouncement. As Charlie stood, the edges of her eyes creasing at his antics, the feeling grew stronger. Why else would Ben have been found where he was? Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to leave evidence pointing straight to her.
But who would do such a thing?
Charlie’s mind raced over every acquaintance, colleague, relative, and friend she had in the area. None of them fitted such a callous crime, not so far as she knew. Even her ex-husband Nick, a man she was glad to lay blame against whenever possible, didn’t fit such a horrendous crime.
Crimes. Not only was someone in town a murderer, but they were also perverting the course of justice by framing Charlie.
The knowledge hurt worse than a punch to the kidneys. How much hatred or callousness must be contained in a person’s heart to perform such actions?
She couldn’t turn over the evidence of the bloody towel when someone was actively plotting against her. If she did, Charlie would play straight into the real murderer’s hands.
No. She needed to hold back while scouting for evidence about who might be Ben’s killer. Until someone else was caught for the crime, Charlie wouldn’t feel safe.
By the time Noah arrived at work, Charlie had calmed down enough to present her usual cheerful face towards the world. Even when the protestors turned up and formed their marching line, she couldn’t be shaken.
“Do you want me to shout them away?” Noah asked, his mouth set in a grim line. “This is getting dangerous. It’s not just our shop they’re keeping people away from—it’s the studio next door and the pawnshop, too.”
Charlie hid a small smile at the thought her troubles were affecting her ex’s business. “I’m sure Nick has enough fortitude to weather this storm and half of the protestors attend classes at Amanda’s studio, so won’t stop anyone from entering.”
“If we banded together—”
“Nick would throw me under the bus,” Charlie finished with a shrug. “Until the police do their job and arrest Ben’s killer, I’m afraid this mob are here to stay.”
Noah gave her a glance dripping with suspicion. “You’re in an awfully cheery mood considering they’re trying to ruin your business.”
Charlie’s mind flicked to the space in the knife block and the bloody towel wrapped in a bin bag in her car. Compared to what those two things could do to her, a few protestors weren’t anything to worry about. She shrugged.
“Is it okay if I work on my story?”
“Sure.” Charlie waved a hand over the empty tables and counter. “Unless this place gets swamped with customers, you’re free to do whatever you like. In fact,”—she pulled off her apron and tossed it into the hamper—“I might take Bocconcini for a long walk. He could use the exercise.”
Noah seemed happy to be left in sole charge and Charlie’s pug strained at his leash for a change. She meandered through the park, dodging acorns, then with a quick glance over her shoulder to see none of the protestors was following, she cut through the driveway of an empty holiday home and out the back gate.
The path back there led down to a tangle of wild brush and a clogged stream. During the hotter months, wild blackberries grew fat in the sun but right now, the vines were grey with just a few sprouts of the new season’s leaves poking out.
Apart from a few mushrooms, wallowing in the damp shade, there was nothing attractive about the area. Charlie wouldn’t venture there except she knew it was a stomping ground for Ben and some of his friends.
Once she’d crossed the stagnant creek and navigated through a pile of thigh-high grasses, the area flattened out. Here, blackened circles told of nights spent in front of open fires. Although the official camping ground for Hanmer Springs was close by, no tourists would ever stray this far.
It didn’t take long to see nobody else was around there either. Charlie started up the side of the hill, rejoining the main path, with Bocconcini protesting.
“Come on, cheese ball, you need this more than me!” Charlie’s cajoling had no effect and for the last few uphill metres, she found it easier to pick the pug up and walk with him than attempt to make him move on his own. “So much for your exercise program,” she said between pants, putting him down with relief.
The Mission wouldn’t be open until later. Five o’clock on the dot. Charlie had a vague idea the hours were made in agreement with the council so a parade of indigents wouldn’t be crowding outside during the busiest times of the day.
About to give up, Charlie spotted a woman with Ben’s galaxy blanket draped around her shoulders. She squinted, not wanting to approach if there was room for error. After a few moments, she decided there couldn’t be much doubt.
Just as she strode towards the woman, a man grabbed hold of her arm. For a split second, her heart jumped into her throat, then Charlie recognised her ex-husband and fear turned to ferocity.
“Don’t grab me,” she shouted at Nick, jerking her arm away. “I’m not your property.”
Several people in the park turned to look but Charlie didn’t
care. If anyone was embarrassed it should be her ex, not that he’d ever show it.
A nearby woman frowned and Charlie bit back a laugh as she recognised one of the town librarians. Of course. The park crossed in front of the Hanmer Springs library. No wonder everybody nearby was so disturbed by her loud voice.
“Alright,” Nick said in his greasy voice, holding his arms up in surrender. “I called your name several times, and you didn’t respond. Perhaps if you don’t want people to grab you, you should pay more attention to your surroundings.”
Charlie opened her mouth to retort, then bit her lip. If she started fighting with him, they’d be out here squabbling in public for the rest of the day.
“What did you want?”
“Eh?”
She rolled her eyes, bending to pick up Bocconcini and add him as a layer of defence. “You grabbed hold of my arm, so I presume you wanted something.”
“Oh.” Nick snapped his fingers. “Sure. I was checking you got the invite to my Gold Event this week. Misty said she’d dropped by, but I wanted to make sure because I didn’t see the flyer in your shop window.”
“You have to pay to advertise in my shop,” Charlie said, nose stuck in the air. “But if you want me to put your flyer in front of the protestors, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”
He grimaced and scratched at his belly, a sure sign of distress. “Why’d you have them out there? It’s bad for business.”
Charlie closed her eyes and prayed for strength. Nick’s lapses in judgement had once been a source of constant frustration. Still, it wasn’t her problem any longer.
If she tried, Charlie thought she’d be able to see through the layers of arguments and petty quarrels to the young man she’d fallen in love with. But what use was that since Nick wouldn’t do the same?
Up to No Gouda Page 4