by Emily Selby
"Yes, a little," Chrissy replied. She plopped onto the chair. "I was at my mum's all day yesterday. My brother dropped me off after nine. I live with my baby in a granny flat at one of my aunts. I wouldn't leave my six-month-old alone, and they've checked my alibi with my auntie."
"Why are you telling me all that?" Heather asked.
Chrissy shrugged.
"It’s what I told the cop. It's what happened. I didn't poison Josephine’s drink."
Heather's cheeks burned. "Neither did I. It must have been one of the people Josephine rubbed up the wrong way. Any ideas?"
"Are you asking me?" Chrissy glanced at her from above her drink.
"I am," Heather replied, truthfully. "You're quite observant. Maybe you've seen or heard something..." Heather let her voice trail off. She hoped that her pet interviewing technique of planting a little seed so that people could interpret what she said the way they wanted and then fall silent, would pay off again.
"She's not a very sociable person, our Josephine," Chrissy said.
"I've noticed that, but I'm talking about something far more sinister. Has she had a serious conflict with anyone? "
"Maree and Josephine argued from time to time. I think I've already told you about it. If I remember correctly, the arguments occurred more frequently shortly before Maree died.”
"Any idea what they argued about? Anything else beside the direction for the café?"
Chrissy bit her lower lip and looked away. "I'm not sure, I've only overheard snippets of their conversations. To be honest, I never thought it was of any relevance. You know, people who work and live together argue about a lot of things."
Heather nodded slowly. She went through a period of working at her ex-husband's car dealership, when they were still married and that turned into a nightmare.
"What about the Archers? There seems to be a certain tension. I was going to ask Josephine, but obviously it's not possible right now."
"No..." Chrissy swirled her drink in the glass and glanced at the house next door. Heather checked it, too. The shaded terrace with little tables was empty. She couldn’t hear anything at this distance.
"They're probably all inside," Heather said, hoping this was encouragement enough.
"You're right, there's been some real tension," Chrissy said slowly, lowering her voice to a whisper. "From what I could tell, both parties have been eyeing the other’s business."
"The Archers wanted to buy the café?"
Which was in line with the information Heather had just overheard.
"And the other way around. As I said earlier, tourism has been in decline recently, and all business owners who rely on tourists have been looking for ways to boost their income."
"Everybody trying to feather their own nest?" Heather observed.
Chrissy nodded. "Unfortunately. But what we really need is collaboration among as many of us as possible."
"You seem to have a pretty good grasp on what is going on and what can help," Heather said. "I’m guessing you’re a smart girl."
Chrissy lowered her eyes. Her cheeks took on a darker hue, which Heather interpreted as a blush.
"I've read about business and the importance of teamwork," Chrissy replied.
"I should make you my business adviser then," Heather said and clasped her hands.
"But I'm just a cleaner and a helper. Not a business adviser," Chrissy protested.
"You've already told me you care about the café's future. As do I. If we put our heads together and add Josephine's input, I'm sure we can create a winning strategy."
"I'd be happy to help." Chrissy stood. "But for now, I'd better go back to cleaning. If we don't get ready for the new season, we won't be able to open, whether we've got a new strategy or not."
"That's very true."
Heather drained her glass. She now knew the neighbors had a good reason to wish Josephine dead. Would that mean Heather, as the current owner was now a target? She pushed that thought to the side. It messed with her thought process. She'd have to return to it later, for now–she needed to be careful.
The comment about Helen wanting to get rid of Gordon, still really bothered her, but she suspected this might have had something to do with the interpersonal relationship rather than the neighborhood commercial wars. She'd leave that to James to investigate.
It was time for her to call him.
Back in the kitchen, Heather found the card James had given her and flipped it to the side where he scribbled his phone number. She grabbed her phone and punched in the number.
She should have probably rung whoever the person on the front side of the card was first, to check if what James was saying was true, but it was already too late.
"James Matthew speaking," the familiar voice announced.
"It's Heather," she said. "Hang on, I forgot to check you."
"Check me on what?" James asked.
"To check if you are who you said you were."
James chuckled. "Sure, go ahead. But don't forget to call me back again."
Heather disconnected the call. She flipped the business card and looked at the name.
Albert Johnson, Chief Investigator, IPCA. She'd better find out what it meant.
She googled the acronym.
Independent police conduct authority. That must have been an interesting place to work.
Was James investigating someone rather than helping Liam? Or was he actually investigating Liam?
She pressed James' number again.
"Bother, I forgot to call that IPCA person again," she said when he answered.
Again, he laughed. "I'd imagine you to be a bit more thorough, after all you're a journalist," he said.
"At least you're thorough," Heather fired back. "And besides, I'm a fashion journalist not an investigative one."
"So, do you want to call later?" James asked, still with a note of amusement in his voice.
Heather blew out a breath.
"Whatever," she said impatiently. "If you went through enough effort to get this Johnson guy's business card, and encourage me to check on you, I would be surprised if you hadn't asked your buddy to testify for you, or whatever the word is."
"Fair enough, kudos for being suspicious. So, do you want to talk?" he asked simply.
To be perfectly honest, she didn't. It felt like telling on people based on gossip and eavesdropping.
"Are you an undercover cop?" she blurted out.
At least she could get that doubt out of the way as well. Maybe not entirely out of the way, but out in the open.
"You can say that," he replied. "Does it help?"
"A little. Are you investigating Liam?"
She sensed a hesitation in the silent pause that followed. "That's one of the things I can't comment on right now."
"And I suspect you can't comment on anything else to do with the case?"
"No, sadly no. You need to trust me."
"Trust me I'm a policeman?" Heather said and laughed. She hoped her laughter came across as forced as she wanted. After all, she'd sworn not to trust any man without sufficient evidence.
And that extended to not trusting women in the fashion business, which stemmed from years of experience in her profession.
"I suppose I'd have to deal with it," Heather said reluctantly. "I have some news for you regarding our neighbors."
"I'm listening."
She repeated the conversation she overheard and added the extra information she learned from Chrissy.
"So, there was a time when both Mr. and Mrs. Archer could have accessed Josephine's glass unnoticed?" he asked when she’d finished.
"When I think back to that moment now, I believe so. I didn't know where Helen got the torch from, and obviously didn't see Gordon on the terrace. The terrace was not visible from where we were in the woods. It was dark by then."
"But she could have seen him and if she was in the kitchen, right?"
"That's correct," Heather said. "She would have seen the tabl
e through the kitchen window."
"I'll check my own channels for more information about the gossip on trying to buy out each other's businesses. Is there anything else?"
"How about 'thank you Heather'?" she asked and regretted it immediately.
"Absolutely, my bad! I'm really sorry about my terrible manners. And thank you thoroughly, Heather," he replied. The amused note in his voice sounded really charming.
Heather pinched herself. She didn't want to fall for another charmer.
"Any news on Josephine's condition?" she asked.
"She still unconscious, I’m afraid," he replied, his voice becoming serious again. "If you want, I can let you know as soon as I'm aware of any change in her condition."
"Yes, please," Heather said eagerly. "Does this make me less of a suspect?"
"Your collaboration with the investigator is certainly appreciated," he said.
This time she wasn't sure how to interpret his tone. She decided to take it seriously.
"And I guess, my continuous collaboration with the investigator will be appreciated?" she asked.
"Exactly," he replied. "Ring me any time, day or night, as soon as you learn something. Even if you think it's irrelevant. And, I can't stress this enough, stay safe and keep out of police business."
"I will," Heather replied and disconnected.
The back door opened, and Chrissy's beautiful face appeared in the gap.
"I've finished with the chairs," Chrissy said. "Come and tell me how you want them set up."
"Coming," Heather replied and rushed outside.
8
Heather woke up. The room was dark and quiet. She checked her watch.
It was quarter past midnight. Or a quarter after eight in the morning, New York time.
Last time she visited New Zealand it took her a week to get over the jetlag. An awfully long time for someone who needed her brain to be in top form ASAP.
She'd have to power through it, but first she needed the bathroom.
She clambered out of bed and visited the little ensuite bathroom, which smelled of damp. She'd have to get a dehumidifier, as her mother advised her. She didn't like humidity. It made her feel as though she was breathing in soup.
Heather opened the little window and secured it with a window stopper. Like her bedroom window, it gave a fantastic view of the bay. The rocks in the sand shimmered in a silver light. She glanced at the sky. After a fairly overcast day, the night sky was clearing, and the nearly full moon was peering through a gap in the clouds.
It looked like someone else was enjoying the ambience. There were two, maybe three silhouettes bobbing up and down behind one of the rocks.
What were they doing there?
Heather returned to her bedroom. She pulled the curtains back a little and grabbed the binoculars.
"It's too dark to see anything," she whispered to herself. But it looked as if someone was exercising on the beach. Maybe someone who didn't like crowds or the sun.
Maybe even late-night walkers, dog walkers? It could have been two people, or a person and a large dog. It was hard to tell from this distance, and in poor light.
She need to go back to sleep and could ask James in the morning.
She tossed and turned for the rest of the night, catching little naps. Once the sky began to lighten she got up.
At least this time she’d been able to stay in bed until nearly 6 AM. A vast improvement on the day before.
She went downstairs and set up the coffee maker. She’d been meaning to search for the espresso machine yesterday but got busy with Chrissy. And then she was too tired and had to go down for a nap. After a quick dinner improvised from what she could find in the fridge and in the cupboard, she decided she had done enough and allowed herself an early night.
This morning, she was going to do some serious thinking about the future. Her own, as well as the café's. But first, coffee. Next on the list, a walk on the beach. After all, she hadn't come only to toil. She came here to enjoy life as well.
With her second cup of coffee in hand, dressed for a morning walk, Heather left the café. The sun was just emerging from above the horizon and the air felt fresh, if not chilly.
She hugged her cardigan with the free hand, sipping on the coffee she held in the other.
Her mother would certainly disapprove of that, insisting that walking on the beach with a mug in your hand looked silly. But Heather didn't care. She was drinking one of her favorite drinks, walking on soft shimmering sand, breathing in fresh air and she had it all to herself.
No, scratch that. Heather winced.
James? What was he doing here at this time of day?
Heather placed her free hand on her hip and took another swig from her mug. Maybe it was a public beach, but why was he walking towards her and waving?
Was he spying on her or what?
A large German Shepard emerged from behind his owner and raced towards her.
Heather twisted her lips. Of course, he had a perfect excuse for a morning walk on the beach.
"Morning, Heather," James called. "Alex, stop!"
The dog stopped just a step away from Heather.
"Hello again," she replied. "I would have asked what you’re doing here, but you would probably tell me you're walking your dog. But that's not what I want to hear."
"Do you think I'm spying on you?" he asked with a crooked smile and a sparkle in his eyes.
"Frankly, yes. Why do you always appear when I want to think things through?"
"No idea," he replied still smiling. His face was infuriatingly handsome. "But maybe I'll be able to tell you if you disclose what you were going to think about? I have been accused of telepathy before."
"I was planning to think about the café," Heather admitted. "But I was also hoping to consider what else I could do to stop you suspecting me."
"Suspecting that you tried to poison Josephine?"
"Yes."
"That's not an issue, anymore," he replied. "Didn't you hear the news?"
"Obviously I didn't. Otherwise I wouldn't have been having this conversation with you."
"Fair enough, fair enough," he said laughing. "But this is a serious matter," he added. "So, I'd better be serious. We’ve arrested Gordon Archer."
Her jaw dropped.
"When? Why?"
"Last night. His fingerprints were found on Josephine's glass."
Heather blinked.
"Seriously? Just his fingerprints?"
"No. We found Josephine's, yours, and his. They were all mixed together. But while you and Josephine had good reasons to hold the glass, he could not explain why he would have touched it."
Heather looked away. She ran through her memories of that unfortunate evening.
"I didn't see him touch it during the meal," she said.
"Neither did his wife," James explained. "He tried to say something about moving her glass on the table but, to be honest, it didn't sound very convincing. The fingertips were positioned in a way that indicated he grabbed the glass and held it firmly for some time, rather than touching it unintentionally. And when we challenged him, he reluctantly admitted, he wanted a sip of his drink, as he really enjoyed it. He picked up a glass from the table on his way to the shed, realized he had a wrong one, put it on the table and found his."
"That might be believable, if not for the gossip I've heard," Heather said.
"Which has been confirmed by a separate source. Gordon has a police record - a warning. Also, the mayor was aware of some tension between the neighbors. It was long time ago, but still...
“Also, the mayor was involved in resolving a dispute between Gordon and Maree and Josephine. It was settled amicably, but he believes that Gordon Archer felt a bit wronged."
"How did he explain the morphine in her glass?"
"He denies putting anything in her glass. But we found the traces of the drug in the Archers’ bathroom cabinet. They must have tried to get rid of it as soon as they realized they might
be both suspected."
"When did they realize that?"
"I guess, it was the argument you overheard. The morphine was from a legit source, even if they both might have used it inappropriately from time to time," he added with an arched brow.
"What do you mean?"
She was still having problems reading some of the Kiwi non-verbal hints.
"The drug was prescribed to Helen a few years ago to manage strong pain after a surgical procedure. She's used the leftovers from time to time to manage back pain, and she also disclosed that she'd seen Gordon "pinching a pill or two" for a toothache."
Heather bit her lower lip.
"Such a law-abiding wife, putting honesty above her love and marital support," Heather mumbled. "But why didn't she report her concerns in her initial statement? I wonder if the conversation I overheard also made her realize they both had been playing games with each other?"
James snorted.
"My thoughts, exactly. Superficially, it looks like a caring wife, not wanting to jeopardize her husband until there's hard evidence against him. When we interviewed her again last night, she admitted she hadn't shared her concerns about her husband appearing on the deck before."
"Doesn't bode very well for the future of their relationship, does it?" Heather observed. "Couples rarely recover from trust issues."
"Speaking from experience?" James asked, giving her another curious look.
"Sadly, yes," Heather replied. She shifted her weight from foot to foot.
Was he interested personally or just clarifying for the sake of the investigation? Why did it matter to her either way?
"I'm sorry if I've touched a sore point," James said quietly.
Heather shrugged.
"No worries, as you Kiwis say," she said and flashed a smile. "That's in the past, by the way. I'm here to start a new life."
"Including your personal life? If I may push it a little further," he added, his lips arching into that charming smile again.
"Indeed. And since you are so direct, may I ask why it matters?" she asked. Not that she was interested, but she wanted to pay an eye for an eye.
"I'm also here, because I want to start my life afresh. And that includes my personal life. Actually, it was meant to be mainly about my personal life." He paused, and his face tensed. "My wife died a couple of years ago. Both my children are grown up, and they have their own lives back in the UK. I tried to rebuild my world over there but struggled. I'm a Kiwi, a Northland man, and I’ve been missing my home country, my home town for many years. I returned to try and be happy again."