Not to mention, the Dwaynes of the world.
With a finger to her lips and a stern expression, Charlie warned her pug to remain silent. She needn’t have worried. The dog was so worn out from all the exercise earlier in the day, he fell asleep. Apart from the occasional snort—from either end—Bocconcini was silent.
The library patronage trailed off as the evening progressed. Only a few pairs of footsteps came near her hiding corner. Each time they did, Charlie held her breath and prayed she wouldn’t be found.
Bad enough if she got herself in a dangerous situation while trying to find Ben’s killer. Far worse if a librarian embarrassed her into leaving town because her hiding place was discovered.
A shuffle of footsteps came around shortly before the main lights flicked out, plunging Charlie into darkness. She waited for a good ten minutes, just to be sure, before crawling out from under cover, nudging her dog awake.
“Shh,” she warned as Bocconcini’s eyes gleamed in the faint streetlight shining inside the library. If someone caught them now, they’d be in a lot of trouble.
With one ear cocked for the sound of an intruder, aside from herself, Charlie made her way to the storage room where Dwayne had been earlier. As the door shut behind her, she pulled Bocconcini out of her cardigan, then spread the garment along the base of the doorway. Once the small gap was sealed, she risked turning on the light.
Her eyes immediately winced shut and began to water. Charlie used her hand as a visor to lessen the brightness and searched through the small room. Nothing struck her as intriguing or out of place. Old books were stacked, some with weights where it appeared their bindings were being glued.
A room for book repair, nothing more.
With a sigh, Charlie picked up a hardcover book that had fallen onto the floor. Bocconcini gave a bark of encouragement, prompting her to take a second look. “Can you smell something?” she dared to whisper, hoping the room would stifle the sound if there was someone waiting outside. “Does it smell like a visiting Australian named Dwayne?”
The pug didn’t have the language to convey whether her assumption was correct, but he stayed on-guard, staring with his head tilted in interest at the book.
On the cover was an old map of the Hurunui District with Hanmer Springs labelled beneath a penned cloud of steam. The workmanship on the map was beautiful, picked out with emerald greens, ruby reds, and sapphire blues. The gloss coating to the cover made each individual marking shine as though the leather was bedecked with jewels.
Charlie let it fall open and gasped in dismay. A page near the centre had been half torn through, leaving it hanging. Whoever had last closed the book had caught it at the wrong angle, bending it into a crease.
She closed the book again and turned it to the side, trying to spot any other mutilated pages. A few others were visible along the length of the book. This time, when Charlie opened the book she did so with more care. To destroy something so old and beautiful was a crime.
“What rascals would do something so awful?” she mused, flicking back to where the book had originally fallen open. When she un-creased the page, taking care not to rip it further, she spied a number written in pencil near the top.
Charlie took a photograph before turning to the other creased pages. They too had pencil marks, but each of them was crossed through. She closed the tome and laid it back on the top of the pile it must have fallen from.
On her phone, the pencilled number reminded her of a Dewey Decimal code. “Let’s go see if my guess is correct.”
Bocconcini happily followed Charlie back out into the dark library. With only quick beams of her phone flashlight to guide them, it took her another few minutes to locate the correct stacks.
“Local history,” Charlie murmured, sweeping a finger along the titles on each shelf until she found the number she was searching for. “Here we go.”
She pulled another old volume out of the shelves, walking it close to the back window to examine it in the ambient light from the street, rather than risk her phone light again.
“It’s all about the old shoe factory,” Charlie whispered to Bocconcini, who appeared on the verge of dropping back to sleep.
Back when Hanmer Springs had first been settled by Europeans enamoured of the mineral waters bubbling up to the surface, a man had set up a factory to make possum fur boots and shoes. The pest had flourished after its introduction to New Zealand and even that far back was the bane of farmers and anybody who enjoyed the native flora of the region.
While the spa rejuvenated the muscles of weary travellers or sufferers of chronic illness, the fur-lined boots had been a luxury good to keep visiting toes toasty and warm. From what Charlie could gather in a quick read through, the death knell had been sounded for the business when the workers unionised to demand a living wage.
By that time, the founder had grown used to a luxurious income. In a fit of pique, he’d chosen to close the factory rather than share his good fortune with the staff—mainly women—who’d worked so diligently to help create it.
For years, the factory had been included in landmark tours of the region. Since the first European settlers only built in the area from the twentieth century onwards, there was little in the surrounds old enough to qualify as an attraction.
The unfortunate experience of a tourist who wound up with a broken leg after plunging through the rotten floorboards had put a stop to its second life. Now, you could only reach the factory by following a four-wheel-drive trail deep into the forest, then hiking along an untended track. Notices all around the abandoned building warned it wasn’t safe to enter.
“I don’t understand what this has to do with Ben Butler,” Charlie said, pulling her cardigan back on and tucking Bocconcini down her chest. “But since all these strange happenings seem to be tied up together, I’m going to find out.”
The snore she received in response reminded Charlie she could do with a few good hours sleep before she faced another busy day. She took a photograph of the book cover, then slotted it back into its rightful place.
“If our customers slow down tomorrow, then we’ll be able to sneak away in the afternoon to do a bit of exploring.” All her muscles tensed as she pressed on the exit bar of the fire escape in the library. After a second without alarms blaring, Charlie relaxed and slipped out the door. “Until then, let’s just keep it between ourselves.”
Since Bocconcini’s only response was a sleepy sigh, Charlie guessed he was on board with keeping everything secret. She walked around the back of the library and crossed to the park, breathing out a slow exhalation when she reached the stony path.
At least anybody seeing her now couldn’t arrest her for trespass. She picked up speed as she strode on a diagonal across the park, old pinecones and fallen needles crunching underfoot.
As Charlie waited by the side of the road for a meandering car to pass, she heard the leaves behind her crushed by another person’s footfall. With her nerves still dialled up, she turned, squinting into the darkness, but couldn’t see anyone there.
“Probably just a feral cat,” she whispered, triggering Bocconcini to open one eye before he fell back asleep. The cats were an ongoing problem in Hanmer Springs. Even the specially designed bins were quick work for them to outwit to feed off the plentiful tidings inside.
Charlie cut through the back alley, noting with dismay the overhead light halfway along had blown a bulb. She made a mental note to lodge it on the council website. If nobody told them, weeks could pass before they noticed.
A stone skittered past her, hitting against the fence. Charlie turned, eyes once again scouring the darkness. Bocconcini wriggled inside her top, perhaps objecting to the speeding thump of her heart.
“Is somebody there?”
No answer. No sign of movement. Charlie turned and ran, sprinting the last thirty metres along the alley to reach the footpath, then neatly spinning on her heel and catapulting herself along the street to her house.
With
shaking hands, she pulled out her house keys, her heart now beating so quickly lights shimmered and danced in her bulging eyes.
The key slotted into the lock and Charlie wrenched the door open, slamming it behind her and leaning all her weight against the thin piece of wood. She flicked the deadbolt on, then bent forward, pulling Bocconcini out of his comfortable hiding place so she could breathe in deeply, hungry for air.
When her pug trotted up to her, staring with a concerned glance, Charlie managed a smile. “Perhaps I’m not built for sneaking around, being nosy,” she whispered. “But it’s a bit too late to stop now!”
Chapter Eleven
When Charlie opened the door to the cheesemongers the next morning, a sizeable crowd had already gathered outside. She stared in puzzled disbelief as the first customers bustled inside, gazing at the array of cheese on offer. A woman clapped her hands in excitement.
Although Charlie shared the lady’s enthusiasm, it was strange to see it so clearly on display. As a nation, New Zealanders were an undemonstrative people. Unless it came to a rugby game, then they’d get to their feet and cheer on their team, no matter what anybody else thought.
“Your sister’s very pretty,” Noah said as Mia slipped out to go to the bathroom.
“You should tell her so,” Charlie said without thinking. “Considering she’s just broken up with her boyfriend, it’d do her ego some good.”
Noah’s eyes took on a strange expression and Charlie could have kicked herself for her thoughtlessness. “I’m sure she’d like a good friend, right now,” she added, trying to head off the worst of the damage.
Judging by Noah’s face, the words didn’t hit the right mark. He gave a single determined nod, and replied, “I’ll be the best friend she’s ever had.”
Charlie made a gagging motion, but a small one since they were still in the middle of service. It wasn’t even a full hour into the day and already her wrists were aching from slicing cheese, chopping chives, and spreading mayo or butter onto bread.
“Holy moly,” a voice called out and Charlie flinched as she looked up into Misty Fortmason’s smiling face. She really didn’t want to deal with her ex-husband’s assistant right now. Or ever, if she were telling the truth.
“Nick’s been twisting himself into knots since yesterday. The line goes straight past his window!”
Okay. Ribbing of her ex she could handle. “I hope he hasn’t been driving them away.”
“Nah. That sounds too much like hard work.” Misty’s smile broadened as she leaned over the counter. “It’s nice to get a break. Could I have one of your daily specials?”
Charlie immediately felt flustered, not having realised Misty was there as a straightforward customer. “Of course,” she said, making the sandwich with the practised movements of someone who’d performed the same duty a hundred times over that day.
“I also wanted to commend you on the article,” Misty continued as her order went on the grill. “It’s a smart move to get people on your side.” She winked. “That’s the kind of thing I’d try if we were in the same situation.”
“The article?” Charlie frowned, then turned to serve the next person in line. Misty dropped back a step just as Mia bustled back into the service area.
“The one in the local paper. It’s quite a coup to get them to give you the time of day when they could probably sell twice as many papers by taking the low road. Still, it’s good to see them standing behind small businesses in this area. As much as Nick complains about the whole thing,” Misty dropped her voice an octave lower, “and he does, it’ll be a different story if he ever needs their help to dig him out of a hole.”
Charlie nodded with a good-natured smile strapped on her face, but inside her head was whirling with the new information. There could only be one person who’d made the overtures to score an article in the paper. She turned and saw Mia’s dimples in full swing.
“Here you go,” Charlie said as Misty’s order came ready. “On the house.”
“Really, you’re too kind.”
“It’s just to encourage you to come back and tell me the next time Nick’s nose gets put out of joint.”
Misty left with a wave and a laugh and Charlie turned to her sister. “Out the back, now.”
Mia began to put up a protest, then shrugged and walked through to the locker room. “What’s up?”
“You went to the local paper?”
She sighed and nodded. “Now, don’t get all upset. It’s a great article.” Mia waved at the throng of customers still waiting to be served. “You can see for yourself they said nothing bad about you.”
“I’d have preferred it if you told me.”
Mia folded her arms and snorted. “No, you’d have preferred if I’d asked your permission and you know you would’ve said no.”
Charlie took a step back, her head inclining forward as she recognised the truth in what her sister was saying. “Do you have a copy of the piece so I can read what everyone else has?”
“Sure.” Mia reached into her locked and pulled out the newspaper. From the speed of the action, it must have been laying on top. “But please read it with an open mind. I don’t want any grief.”
“Sorry.” Charlie stepped forward and hugged her sister until she could feel her body tense to get away. “Even if the article’s a horror show I know it came from a good place.” She opened the adjoining door, scanning the eager customers. “And it worked a treat.”
Mia started at the counter again while Charlie took a few minutes to peruse the write-up. The article mentioned her business was eco-friendly, possibly a stretch considering the damage cows could do with their water needs, run-off, and methane-laden belches. On the other hand, if you apportioned the blame for that solely on the dairy farmers and started from the milk, Charlie didn’t add much harm.
Her eyes widened as she read through a passage stating the business supported local farms. She charged them for every transaction, so it wasn’t like the cheese cave had been set up for the good of the local community. Like everything else involved, it was a running concern and had to turn a profit to stay alive.
But she paid for the milk she used in her own products, so… Maybe?
Charlie folded up the newspaper and stuffed it into her own locker when she read about how her business supported the homeless in the area. Handing out a few sandwiches in return for conversation was hardly charity. More like a fair exchange.
The article made her look like a saint, then summed up how the unfounded charges were trying to drive her out of business.
“Just forget about it, and focus on the customers,” Charlie chided herself as her mind began to formulate a retraction to send to the paper. “You can set the record straight later if you’re not locked up.”
“You should be locked up,” Noah said, elbowing her aside to reach for a new apron. “Talking to yourself out in the back room while we’re packed and run off our feet at the front.”
“Carting me off to the loony bin won’t help get them served any faster,” Charlie said, returning his grin. She followed him back out to the shop front, giving Mia’s shoulder a squeeze before she took an order from the next customer in line.
“Stop picking it apart,” Mia groaned as Charlie set out all the reasons the article didn’t stack up against the truth.
They’d shut up shop, then all collapsed into chairs after the strain of being run off their feet all day long. After ogling Mia for a good ten minutes, Noah had been sent home. The last thing Charlie needed was a sexual harassment suit being filed by her sister.
With that concern dispatched, she’d been free to return to the matters that had weighed on her mind throughout the afternoon. Chiefly, the article and it’s polished version of the truth.
“Look. If you want to correct the article, why don’t you just change things around on this end to make them match? You could donate food or use of the store while you’re not needing it to the Mission shelter down the road. You could put
a portion from every cheese sale towards a fund to help local farmers when they have a bad season.”
Charlie pursed her lips, tapping her forefinger against them. “I suppose I could.”
“Then you’d be the saint I made you out to be, without earning a guilty conscience.” Mia stood up, stretching over backwards until her spine cracked, then rolling her shoulders. “I’ll only be able to make it in at ten tomorrow,” she warned. “I’ve got an interview with another firm.”
“Noah will be heartbroken,” Charlie said with a faint snigger. “Whereabouts are you interviewing? I hope you know you don’t have to move on if you’re happy here because I’m glad of the extra help right now.”
“It’ll fade. The newspaper’s already lining bins throughout the district and it’ll be pulped through the recycling plant by this time next week. People have short memories.”
Considering the change in just a few days from villain to hero, Charlie had to concede the point. She also appreciated the way Mia had nimbly side-stepped her question about where she wanted to move.
“Come on, Sis.” Mia tapped her on the arm. “I’ll give you a hand cleaning up, then I’m out of here.”
When Mia went to pick up the rubbish bag, Charlie stepped forward and removed it. “Could you wipe down the counters, instead? I’ll take this out back.”
She didn’t want a repeat of yesterday’s threat playing out with Mia as the recipient. Although Dwayne should be able to tell them apart in the late afternoon light, the thought of how her baby sister would react to the man’s greasy warnings made Charlie’s throat clutch.
As she fiddled with the dumpster lid, Bocconcini helping by rubbing against her ankles, Charlie thought of the abandoned factory. If she wanted the chance to observe it in daylight, she needed to get a move on.
Eager as she was to investigate the lead further, tripping over roots and rocks in the forest’s dark trails didn’t appeal. Get in. Get out. She checked her watch. Yeah, there’d be just enough—
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