by Emily Selby
"I'm sorry about your wife," Heather said softly. "I genuinely hope you can rebuild your life here."
Now she'd said it, a gentle tingling in her chest made her aware that she was, in fact, interested in his truthful reply.
"Thanks," James said softly. "Going back to the reason why I’m asking, I wondered if once this is all over, and you are properly cleared of any suspicion, I'd like to take you out for a drink or a meal. Would you be up for something like that?"
Heather's heart flipped.
"Are you asking me out?"
"Only if you are proven completely innocent and after the case is closed."
"Do you still suspect me?" she asked, her free hand jerking back to the hip.
"Okay, let me backtrack," he said making the erasing gestures with his hands. "I meant, after the case is closed."
"A tentative okay," Heather replied after a momentary pause. "But only when I'm satisfied that you are indeed a good cop, and you haven't lied to me."
James’ eyes narrowed.
"Touché!" he said. She detected and note of praise in his voice. "It's a deal then?"
"Deal," Heather said. "And now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to continue my walk."
He bowed, called his dog and walked away.
Heather snapped her fingers. Why on earth had she been so unpleasant? James seemed to be a genuine guy. He seemed to honestly have good reasons for keeping certain things secret and, as a policeman, he should. She wouldn't trust him as a law enforcement officer if he didn't. So why didn't she?
Well, she certainly had a dilemma. And she would need to find a way to solve it. Ideally, before he invited her for the date.
Speaking of mistrust in a relationship, what was the animosity between the Archers about? Was it relevant to the case?
As Heather strode back to the café, she reviewed her impressions.
Regardless of her dislike for Gordon Archer, and despite the evidence against him, Heather had the distinct impression he was not the perpetrator.
Surely, if Helen had seen him touch Josephine's glass, by mistake, as he said, she would likely have spotted her once-in-the-lifetime opportunity to rid herself of her hated hubby. She might have slipped a dose of morphine into Josephine's glass once her husband was gone to frame him. She likely had the same motive for wanting to harm Josephine, or maybe, it was just her taking revenge on Gordon, for whatever sins he had committed.
It sounded crazy, but not impossible.
Heather walked into the kitchen.
"I wonder if James has checked that trail..."
9
"Hi, Heather," Chrissy greeted her bright and early the following morning. She was standing in the main café with the door to the kitchen wide open. "Sorry I'm a bit early. Couldn't sleep."
"That's not a problem, good morning," Heather replied.
Obviously, she wasn't meant to do any more thinking this morning. On the other hand, brainstorming some ideas with Chrissy, who was seemingly on her side, might produce better results.
"Are you troubled by anything? Is your daughter all right?"
"Manaia is fine," Chrissy replied. "It's just the news I heard last night, about Gordon. Floored me a little. Have you heard?"
"Yes, I have. What do you think of it?"
"He may not be the nicest man on earth, but I find it hard to believe that he would go as far as actually hurting anyone."
Just as Heather thought.
"What about Helen?" Heather asked.
Chrissy looked away and bit her lip. Heather could sense the reluctance in her body posture.
"I find her hard to read," Heather said. Disclosing some of her thoughts often helped her make people open up.
"She is very private, I would say," Chrissy said after a long pause. "Superficially always polite and friendly but ..."
"Two-faced?" Heather suggested.
"No, not that. Not exactly, but I think appearances are important to her, which is why she likes to present herself in a certain way."
"Which is what?"
"Like a lady, I would say," Chrissy said. "Like someone who is happy or maybe content. But my impression is that underneath her façade she is a deeply unhappy woman."
Heather rubbed her chin. From the little she’d seen and heard from Helen, it did make sense.
"Unhappy in her marriage you mean?" Heather pushed on.
Chrissy pursed her lips and looked away again.
Heather reckoned she was probably on the right track.
"I wondered what's wrong between Gordon and Helen. He seems... I don’t know ... controlling? As if he was always checking where she was or what she was doing."
"I've had the same impression," Chrissy said, nodding her agreement.
"Any gossip on that front?"
Another long look away.
"Do you think there might have been something between them that may be important to the investigation?" Heather asked. She didn't mind pushing Chrissy into revealing something the young woman was clearly uncomfortable disclosing. After all, it was a suspected murder investigation and Heather was still one of the suspects.
Chrissy shrugged.
"We all are humans and we make mistakes," Heather said, pushing even harder. "Some of them are stupid but don't bear any impact on anyone else. Some of them are silly but affect other people in unexpected ways. I'll let you be the judge of it. Just remember the police are investigating an attempted murder."
Chrissy inhaled sharply.
"You’re starting to sound like my mum," Chrissy snapped. "That's exactly what she said last night."
"Maybe us, older women, are right sometimes?" Heather added in a lighter tone. "Coffee?"
"Yes, please." Chrissy moved from the café hall into the kitchen and sat on one of the stools. "Have you had breakfast yet?"
"No. I'm not really a breakfast person," Heather said. "But if you are hungry, feel free to have a look through the kitchen. There are some ingredients, they should be safe."
"Why don’t we pop to the bakery and get something from there," Chrissy suggested.
"Great idea, but coffee first, right?"
Heather busied herself with making a fresh pot of coffee.
A few minutes later, she handed Chrissy a steaming mug. She also topped off her own drink.
"It happened a few years ago when Helen was doing a course in Whangarei," Chrissy said unexpectedly staring into her mug. "I heard about it from someone who knew someone who knew someone. Often happens like that here in New Zealand. It’s a small country, as you know."
Heather blinked, but her journalist brain, well fuelled with coffee, kicked in. She jumped to certain assumptions.
"Was that other man doing the course as well?" Heather asked.
"I think so," Chrissy continued. "He had a restaurant. Apparently quite successful. He offered her a job."
"Did she want to go? Was Gordon against it?" Heather was back in her element, firing off speculative questions.
"I think she wanted to divorce him," Chrissy lowered her voice to a whisper. "Please don't repeat this to anyone," she added looking at Heather pleadingly. "I heard it from my cousin, who is a family lawyer in Auckland."
Heather held her breath. The gaps in her knowledge about the local geography were making it even harder to understand.
"So, we’re here, in Dolphin Cove, and Whangarei is about two hours away, right?"
"Less than that. An hour and a half maybe."
Yeah, she forgot that she’d had to stop a couple of times trying to program her nonworking GPS.
"And Whangarei is the main center, right?"
"Yes, it's our nearest city. Auckland is three hours further away." Chrissy looked at her with confusion on her face.
"I'm just trying to understand why it matters who is from where," Heather explained.
"Ah, just that. It's because we're such a small community. If you want to keep something quiet, seeking advice from a professional even in Whangarei my not provi
de you with the level of discretion you're after. That's why a lot of people go all the way to Auckland to talk to family lawyers, financial advisers, stuff like that. But, even in large practices in Auckland, you will probably have people who are connected to other people. And if you have someone from a small town coming to seek advice far away from the place where they live, that obviously raises suspicions."
"I see," Heather replied. Even listening to that made her feel hot. She needed to remember Chrissy’s advice in case she needed to consult a professional in confidence.
"Why didn't they divorce?" Heather asked. "Does Helen have a lot to lose?"
"I don't know," Chrissy replied. "I have no idea how their financial affairs are organized, but she may stand to lose too much in terms of her image, maybe connections, family or friends."
"Did Gordon know about the ... situation?" Heather asked. Although given what she heard during their argument, she could assume Gordon had been aware of the affair. Obviously, assuming Heather had interpreted the exchange correctly.
Chrissy took a long sip from her mug. She looked away again.
"I remember Gordon from that period. He wasn't himself. Distracted, you know? We overheard a number of heated exchanges between them, particularly on Monday mornings. The training course took place on the weekends. Helen used to return late on Sunday evening. Maree mentioned a couple of times that the Archers had argued long into the night. I guess it meant Gordon knew or suspected something."
"That makes sense. And he didn't want the divorce either?"
"I don't know. But from what I've seen he's madly in love with Helen. Or maybe he’s just jealous and possessive."
"That sounds more like him to me," Heather observed. "But, then again, I've only known him for two days."
"You seem to have a good grasp on people's personalities," Chrissy observed. "What did you do before buying the café?"
"That's a long story," Heather said and stood up. "How about we go to the bakery, grab something to eat? That way, we can have a feast and talk about my life in New York."
When Chrissy smiled, her eyes shone.
"That sounds like a great distraction. I hope you have lots of funny stories to tell. And then we can talk about changing things around in the café."
"That's a deal then."
* * *
Rangi, the baker, greeted them warmly. He asked about Josephine's health and commented on Gordon Archer’s arrest, stating how shocked and surprised he was.
It seemed as though Heather and Chrissy weren't the only people who believed that the police had arrested the wrong man.
Heather was itching to ask Chrissy and Rangi to dish more dirt on the Archers but, at this stage, all she could collect were people's impressions, while the police had the evidence.
"Can we please not talk about the case?" Chrissy asked when they returned to the café. "It’s really upsetting."
Reluctantly, Heather agreed.
They prepared a simple brunch—a baguette with a local brie they found in the fridge. Chrissy dug out a jar of jam from the pantry.
"You should try this," she said opening the jar.
"What is it? Heather inspected the yellowish content. She sniffed it. It smelt familiar.
"Fiji owa jam," Chrissy answered.
Not that strange name again!
But this time Heather felt more at ease asking for explanations.
"How do you spell it?" she asked.
"Look at the label, it's legible and spelled correctly."
"Feijoa jam," Heather read aloud. "Ah so this is how you write it. I would have never guessed. In fact, I thought it was something to do with Fiji."
Both women laughed.
"It's a local fruit, grows everywhere. It's ready usually in April. It's as big as an egg, and it has a hard skin and soft middle. We eat the center, like with kiwifruit. It's also great in jams."
"And in scones," Heather added.
"Or on a baguette." Chrissy smiled.
"Here or outside?" Heather asked.
"The sun is shining, so it might be warm enough on the deck."
Heather winced. This was the first time she heard the word 'deck' pronounced with the New Zealand accent.
Chrissy must have spotted her reaction. She giggled.
"I meant the terrace or the patio, whatever you call it."
"I know what you meant," Heather replied feeling warmth rush to her cheeks. "My mother is a Kiwi. She warned me of certain peculiarities of the local accent. I suppose I just need to adjust to it."
"I'm sure you'll be fine. We are a friendly bunch and don't get offended easily."
"Okay, let's sit on the deck then." Heather loaded a tray and it with plates and mugs of freshly brewed coffee. Chrissy had showed her where Josephine stored the espresso machine, and they agreed to check it later on.
They sat at one of the tables under the roof sail.
"Are you a Kiwi, too?" Chrissy asked.
"I have a Kiwi passport, and some family members here. But I'm not sure if I can really call myself a New Zealander. At least not yet."
"You'll adapt quickly. So, tell me your plans for the Kea café."
Heather took a deep breath. "First of all, I'd like to change the name."
"You don't like our little kea?"
"I do like it. But it's just... Just not really suitable. From what I've read, kea is a mountain parrot. Why have a mountain parrot on the café by the sea? Besides, I was hoping to make this place more colorful, paradise-like. And, no offence, the kea is a little too drab."
Chrissy opened her eyes so wide they almost popped out of the sockets.
"Have you told Josephine?" she asked.
Heather wriggled in the chair.
"I tried," she said quietly, "but I don't think she was very supportive."
"Doesn't surprise me," Chrissy replied in a matter-of-fact way. "From what I know, it was one of the arguments Maree used to have with Josephine regularly. The kea is Josephine's favorite bird. Originally, she was from South Island, somewhere where there are loads of keas. She moved to Northland when she was a little girl and always missed her hometown and the nature."
A pang of sadness hit Heather's chest.
"I didn't know that. So, the little kea on the door reminds her of her childhood, I guess?"
"I think so. Changing the name might be an issue. What were you thinking of calling it?"
Heather hesitated. She had an idea, but she hadn't shared it with anyone yet. Back home, she feared that the people she told might laugh at it. But they weren't important people, just a bunch of colleagues from work she used to call friends but recently realized they were anything but.
This was her new life, new people, and Chrissy seemed particularly friendly and welcoming.
"Please don't laugh, maybe when you're my age you'll understand. I wanted to call it Career Crisis Café." Heather said studying Chrissy's face carefully.
Of course, she was anxious. Of course, she feared ridicule and rejection. Didn't everyone?
"Why would I laugh? It obviously has a meaning to you," Chrissy replied.
"It does. I bought this café right in the middle of career crisis, as you can probably guess. I was being totally impulsive. But I hope I made the right decision."
Chrissy reached across the table and squeezed Heather's hand.
"I hope so, too. I love the idea of making the café into a beach paradise thingamajig. I think it will attract new customers and revitalize not only the café but the whole area. I think the name would suit such a place much better than Kea. The name's totally crazy, but it's meant to be. I really like it."
"That was exactly my line of thinking," Heather agreed. "But how can I make it happen?"
"First, you need to get the on-site license, to be able to serve alcohol. Have you done that?" Chrissy asked patiently.
Heather chuckled. "You're a very practical person, Chrissy. I shall appoint you as my business adviser. And I shall pay you more adequate
ly the moment we're bringing in some decent income." She said solemnly. "So far, I haven't done anything, because I’ve been constantly distracted with Josephine’s attempted murder."
Chrissy’s shoulders dropped. "Oh, I almost forgot. I was going to ring my sister to check for news on Josephine. I'll call her later, after her shift. I can let you know if you want."
"Yes, please." Heather replied. At least this way, she might receive the news, irrespective of James' goodwill.
Which reminded her to call James and express her doubts regarding Gordon's guilt.
She'd do it later, maybe after Chrissy left for the day.
However, the moment Chrissy left, Heather felt an overwhelming desire to have a nap. She shoved the dishes into the sink and dragged herself upstairs.
She trudged into her bedroom and immediately knew something was wrong.
One of the drawers she'd never opened had one of the corners slightly out. Her bedspread had been ruffled, and the Chandler's "The Long Goodbye" book she'd been reading in bed was not exactly where she'd left it the previous night. She wouldn't have noticed these little things, if she hadn't been a fan of mystery books and thrillers.
This was also how she'd learnt to set traps to see if someone had been rummaging through your stuff.
She needed to contact the police, but first, she had to check if anything had gone missing.
Who on earth could have raided her bedroom and why? Did they think she was a loaded American tourist?
Or was it something to do with Josephine, or maybe even Maree?
Suddenly, her sleepiness had vanished.
10
By the time Heather checked on her possessions the urge to complain was gone. Everything seemed to be in its place except for the little things she noticed earlier. Nothing gone missing and, by the time she'd finished going through her things, she started doubting herself.