by Emily Selby
Heather dried her hands as thoroughly as she could. Chrissy was clearly in favor of the change Heather had in mind, but was she a good ally?
"The license will take a while to come through, even if no one opposes," Chrissy pushed on. "I know because one of my cousins runs a grocery shop in the city and he wanted to add alcohol to his range."
Heather's cheeks stopped burning. She turned back to face Chrissy. "Maybe I'll try then."
Chrissy's expression became serious and determined. "I'm sorry to be a little pushy, but if you want this café to survive, you need to find a way to make it more attractive to tourists. And I need to tell you why I care about your success.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “The café hasn’t been doing well, even before Maree's death. That's why they were having those conversations.
"Of course, I work and get paid here. I care about my own future and that of my baby daughter, but it's also about the whole region. We need fresh ideas to keep the town alive. We depend on the tourism heavily and it’s been declining recently.” She shook her head sadly. “I suspect Maree might have had some ideas, but Josephine was not keen on them. Maybe Josephine realized the negative impact of her approach to the café. Perhaps that's why she sold her shares to Ricky, letting him handle the sale of the business completely."
Ah, so that was how it all happened!
"I wondered why she didn't want to have a say in the café's future," Heather said.
"I think it was the combination of the shock after Maree's sudden death, Josephine's grief and her reluctance to carry on with the café. And the books..." Chrissy paused and let out a sigh.
"Yes, I've seen the books," Heather disclosed. "And thought I could turn it around."
"So, you need to do it now," Chrissy fried back. "It's your responsibility."
She turned on her heels and marched out to start her cleaning.
Heather wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
"No pressure, Heather, no pressure," she said to herself quietly.
Chrissy seemed well informed, and bright. She also had a vested interest in the café's future. Maybe she would be a good business partner, if...
Shoots!
Heather had to stop thinking like that. This was as bad as wishing Josephine ill.
She needed to start making some concrete steps to look after her business. Heather reached to her handbag and fished out her notebook and opened it to a blank page.
Serving cocktails was one idea. She also wondered about providing an extended service. Maybe a B&B?
The café premises were big enough to do that. With a one-bedroom flat upstairs, and one in the sleep-out, it wouldn't have been that big. But if she converted the living space upstairs, she'd have another double bedroom.
Josephine's sleep-out could be extended, too.
But, on the down side, she and Josephine would have to move out. Where would she live?
A heavy sensation settled in Heather’s stomach.
She was thinking of getting rid of Josephine again. This was awful.
She hurled the notebook back into the handbag. She had to stop thinking this way. Josephine would recover and they’d have an open and honest conversation about the direction of their business.
Of her business.
After all, Chrissy was right–the café was hers and hers alone, and if it didn't bring enough profit, Josephine, who was an employee wouldn't have any income. And if Heather had to sell the café, Josephine would need to move out anyway.
That argument should be strong enough to consider, even for someone as stuck in her ways, as Josephine appeared to be.
Heather needed some fresh air to cool herself down.
"Knock-knock, may I come in?" a vaguely familiar voice cut into her thoughts.
Heather looked up to find the good-looking neighbor who lived "out of the way," standing in the open doorway.
"Oh, hello again, neighbor."
"Hi, Heather," James Matthews replied. "I'd like a word, if possible."
"What about?"
"A few things, rather confidential," he replied, his face serious.
"Come in then. And tell me why?" She leant against the wall, watching him enter the kitchen.
He reached into the pocket of his black jacket, pulled out a small rectangular document and flashed it.
"I wasn't entirely open when I introduced myself earlier. I'm semi-retired. I'm a cop, I mean. I've recently retired from the UK police force. Criminal Investigation Department, by the way, but I have a little job with the local force. I've just been asked to help with this case."
Heather's heart broke into a gallop. "What case?"
"Josephine's poisoning. The lab found traces of morphine in her drink glass, but not in food, or any other drinks. In case you're wondering, everything else is safe to eat."
Heather gulped. "Someone laced her drink with morphine, but it wasn't me," she croaked.
"You prepared the drinks, and the Archers say no one had access to the glasses after you served them. You all sat around the table and chatted until they left. Is that correct?"
A bead of cold sweat formed on Heather's temple. She took a steadying breath, but her head was already spinning. "Am I a suspect then?"
"At this stage, I'm just collecting information," he replied, his expression undecipherable.
"But wasn't Liam supposed to do that?"
A barely noticeable wince crossed her neighbor's dark face. "He was, but he's busy with the day-to-day policing of the area. Which is why they've asked me to step in."
His voice was calm and natural, what he said made sense in the context, but after years in the smooth-lying industry, Heather knew when she wasn't being told the whole truth, which was the second time with this man.
Who the heck was he and why was he doing what he was doing? He seemed much too young to have retired from the UK police. He looked at most in his early fifties!
"So, what do you want from me?" she asked, crossing her arms.
"Tell me again what happened last night."
Heather repeated the story about her arrival, the trip to town, fritters, salad, and her drinks.
"Did anyone enter the kitchen when you were preparing the drinks?"
"No. I left Josephine by herself and went upstairs once to fetch the iced tea, but that only took a minute or two. I'd have heard if anyone came in, and Josephine didn't say anything. Besides, at that stage everything was still in the bottles. And, in any case, no one could have guessed who would use which glass."
"That's very thorough, thanks," he said. "Did anyone leave the table during the evening? After the drinks were served, I mean."
Heather wrinkled her nose. "We went to rescue the cat from the tree," she said slowly. "That was just after I brought the drinks."
The skull-piercing glance appeared again.
"Were you all together all the time?"
"No. Gordon went to fetch the ladder, and Helen ran back to her house to get a torch."
"Did they leave and return together?"
Heather bit her lip. Her thoughts were muddled, just as they had been back then, last night.
"Sorry, I didn't pay that much attention, but I think they did, yes."
"They say so. Did Josephine appear normal to you?"
Heather blinked. "Normal? I've no idea. I hardly know her. We’d only just met."
"I mean, did she look like someone who might have considered a suicide?"
Heather thought back to the time spent with her chef. "Not at all. In fact, she seemed future focused, if that is what you mean."
Josephine's vision of the future might have different from that of her new boss, but would it have been enough to push her to suicide?
Should Heather feel guilty?
"You think it might have been a suicide attempt?"
"Liam, her nephew doesn't think so. He spoke to her earlier that day and she appeared happy and excited about your arrival. That is also the Archers' impression. Liam chec
ked the room and didn't find any suicide note or anything enlightening. He insists his aunt is not a suicidal type. He's also of the view that there are quite a few people who might have wanted her out of the way."
"That's what he suggested in a conversation with me," Heather replied.
"Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm her?" James asked.
Heather froze.
"T-That's the question I've been asking myself," she stuttered. "But I'm an outsider, a stranger who happened to land here yesterday."
"You met Josephine before, didn't you?"
Heather ran her tongue around her mouth. It felt like sliding a sheet of sand paper over a piece of wood.
"Yes, I did," she admitted, because it was easy to check and she wanted to be as helpful as possible. "It was back in May, when I came to view the premises and sign the paperwork.
James nodded. "How was your relationship with her?"
Why was he determined to ask all these of uncomfortable questions?
"I've started working on improving it," Heather replied. She did. She really wanted to improve it.
"I didn't poison her," Heather blurted out. "Listen, I might have had a disagreement with her over the café décor, its name and future direction. I've got an idea on revitalizing the business she might not have completely approved of. But that happens in commerce, and I'm planning to work on it and resolve any resolvable difficulties."
"If she survives."
Heather's upper lip quivered. "If she survives. When will we know?"
"According to the doctors, if she lives through the next 12-24 hours, she'll probably be fine," James explained.
"I'll pray for her," Heather said eagerly. She’d seen a little church on her way through the town, she'd go and light a candle as soon as this nosey semi-retired, semi-truthful policeman left.
"And if she survives and you’re still unable to resolve your differences, what are you going to do?"
"What do you mean what am I going to do?" she fired back. Her chest tightened.
"I'm aware of the one-year guaranteed contract and living arrangements clause," he said and paused. His jaw tensed.
Heather cleared her throat. "If we still are unable to resolve our differences, then, as you probably know," she added defiantly, throwing her chin up. "I'll have to look at selling the café or buying her out, as per the clause. I never have and never will resort to harming anyone to get my way."
James nodded.
"Thank you for being so honest with me, Heather," he said softly. "I really appreciate it."
Heather pressed her back against the wall. She was still giddy from the exchange, but the urge inside her demanded that she investigated James' voice. Was he being genuine, or was he trying his charm on her?
"I'm just doing my duty, wanting whoever harmed Josephine to be found and punished appropriately. And, of course, I'm trying to prove my innocence. Is there anything else I can do to help?"
He smiled, making his face look friendly again. "Will you let me know if you remember anything, or come across any information that might be relevant?"
"I will. I promise."
"And one more thing," he said, his expression serious again.
"Yes?" she asked, letting out a little more irritation that she would like.
"If you come across anything like that, could you go straight to me, and not share it with anyone unless ... or until you talk to me, please?"
Heather tensed her shoulders. So, he was not only sneaking on people, doing a job he was maybe not supposed to be doing, he was also asking her to keep secrets?
Who the heck was he?
"Why are you asking me?" she asked.
"For your own and everybody's safety," he replied calmly. "We're treating this incident as an attempted murder."
"And who are you and why aren't you telling me the whole truth?" she fired back.
He frowned. His nostrils flared, but he remained quiet for a few seconds. "I am genuinely who I say I am. I'm currently working as an independent investigator with one of the central offices. You can check my credentials with this person, if you'd like." He reached out into his inside pocket again and pulled out a business card. "But for the integrity of this case, could you please, keep it to yourself for now."
Heather glanced at the card. She'd run an online search later.
"I'll write my phone number on the other side of the card," he said, scribbling.
"I still have some questions," she warned.
"I'm sorry. Can’t tell you anymore right now, but I can promise that I'll answer your outstanding questions later." He passed her the card.
Heather shrugged before slipping it into her pocket.
Men and their little secrets.
"Fine," she replied.
She wasn't fine at all. She was furious. Not only was she a suspect in an attempted murder, she’d also been lied to. And she hated that.
7
Heather paced around the kitchen. She was in a pickle but had no one to talk to.
She probably shouldn't have signed the one-year guaranteed employment clause with Josephine. If it hadn't been for that, the police case against her wouldn't have been so strong.
Probably.
Heather wasn't versed in criminal law, let alone the New Zealand law, but she was smart enough to see how James might have made the connection.
James-flickering-Matthews with his good-looking face and friendly smile.
Heather stopped. She needed to prove him wrong. She had to clear her name. She couldn’t start her new life, in a new country being accused of attempted murder.
As James had said, the circle of suspects was narrowed down to the people who sat around the table last night. She knew it wasn't her, and if it wasn't Josephine trying to take her own life, then the remaining suspects were clear. It could only have been Gordon and Helen Archer, who seemed so sweet on the surface yet evoked some bad vibes in Heather. And didn't Josephine mentioned that Gordon could be quite nasty?
When searching for the ladder and the flashlight, had they really gone and returned together?
She had to find out.
Not wanting to bump into James again in case he was interviewing Chrissy, Heather left through the front door.
She ran down the steps and turned right. Although she intended to ring the bell at the front door of the Archers' B&B, fate had a different scenario for her.
Someone had left the Beach Paradise front door open. The people inside couldn’t have been aware of it or they wouldn't be having an argument audible from outside.
Alternatively, her neighbors didn't care that other people could hear them argue.
Heather ran up the steps ready to shout a warning of her approach as soon as she was within the Archers' earshot.
"You went to fetch the ladder and it took you so long..." Helen shouted.
Heather stopped and strained to hear.
"I couldn't find the blasted thing," Gordon replied angrily. "You said it was in the shed. But I found it propped up against the back hedge."
"I last saw it in the shed, you should have checked it yourself. But that's not the issue," Helen insisted. "The issue here is that you could have sneaked in to poison her drink. There’s morphine in the medicine box. And I'm sure I saw you on the deck before you went for the ladder."
Heather's heart skipped a beat. Sweet potatoes! She crept forward and stood in the doorway, ready to pretend she just arrived in case somebody spotted her.
"No, I didn't! Why would I want to poison her?"
Helen gave a sharp laugh. "Don't get me started, Gordon Archer. You've been eyeing that café for years. And then that Heather woman outbid you."
"But you had an opportunity to spike her drink, too. You told the cop you'd gone to fetch the torch from the house, but you never mentioned the torch you used was Josephine's. You got it from Josephine's kitchen, not ours," Gordon yelled back. "It means you could have added something to her drink too!"
&nbs
p; "And why would I do that?" Helen screamed.
"To frame me, of course. That way, you can get rid of me without resorting to divorce."
A cold shiver crawled down Heather's spine. She was right, the so-called loving couple next door was nowhere near as loving as they appeared on the surface.
"Gordon Archer, the master of thinking about his own backside," Helen scoffed. "Selfish and self-centered, as you've always been. Why I still put up with you, God only knows."
"It's because you're a very calculating woman, Helen. And you know very well you've got too much to lose." Gordon’s voice took on a mocking tone.
The silence that followed signaled that it was time for Heather to back away. She ran down the steps as quietly as she could and trotted back to the café.
Heart was hammering in her chest, her head was buzzing, and it was definitely more than just the jetlag kicking in again.
Were her neighbors involved? They both seem to have an opportunity and a motive.
And they both had clearly lied to the police.
She needed to talk to James Matthews. Even though she didn't really want to.
But first, she needed to collect her thoughts.
If she truly wanted to help find whoever attempted to poison Josephine, she needed as much information as she could find.
She stepped outside on the terrace. Chrissy was still cleaning the chairs.
"Would you like a drink, Chrissy?" she asked.
"I'd love one," the young woman replied. "Just no alcohol, please."
Heather returned inside. She was tempted to mix herself a cocktail, and even though the drinks had been cleared by the police lab, she didn't feel comfortable doing it.
She found a sealed bottle of lemonade in the fridge, opened it and poured the liquid into two tall glasses. She added ice and straws.
"Here you are," she said bringing the drinks and putting them on the nearest table. She pulled two chairs. "Come and join me."
"I've just had that cop guy interviewing me about the case," Heather said as lightly as she could. "Apparently he's helping Liam. Did he talk to you, too?"