by Emily Selby
Heather pushed the bowl with the dry food in front of the cat's nose and rattled it.
"No, you are being ridiculous," she whispered. "This is not empty. See?" She put the bowl back on the floor a little too loudly than she intended to. This sound echoed through the kitchen. Heather winced. Since the recent attempt at her life, Josephine hadn't been sleeping very well. Heather hated the idea of adding to her problems.
She glanced at the door to Josephine's sleep-out. It had been left open. Now, it was clear how the kitty got upstairs. Heather was relieved he hadn’t woken Josephine.
Maybe she should close the door?
She tiptoed across the kitchen, stopped at the door and listened.
All was quiet. Josephine must have still been asleep.
Heather pulled the handle and closed the door as quietly as possible.
Something moved behind the window. Heather froze. She stepped forward for a better view.
Someone was walking towards the house.
Heather's heart skipped a beat. She stared at the shadow for a couple of seconds.
Tall hunched, broad-shouldered.
Josephine?
Heather waited.
After a short while, the lock rattled, and the back door opened.
"Josephine?" Heather said not hiding her surprise. "Are you all right?"
Josephine’s hand flung to her throat. "You startled me," she exclaimed. She was wearing a jacket over her nightie, and her sockless feet were stuffed into a pair of outdoor shoes.
"I came downstairs with the cat and saw something through the window," Heather explained still studying Josephine's face for any explanation. "And when I realized it was you, I decided to wait. Problems sleeping?"
Josephine's face was flushed. Her eyes were tense. The end of a leash stuck out of her jacket pocket.
"I was ... Was just ... Out on the beach for a walk," Josephine replied, hesitantly.
"It's three in the morning."
"Couldn't sleep," Josephine replied and turned sideways heading for her sleep-out. "Can't wait to have the blinds and the curtains back."
It made sense. Sort of. But something about the situation made Heather a little suspicious.
"Something's dangling out of your pocket," Heather observed.
Josephine's hand jerked to the pocket. She pulled out a small object that glinted.
A handgun?
Heather's heart accelerated.
"What is it?" Heather's voice broke into a shrill.
Josephine swiveled to face her. She waved her hand holding whatever the object was.
"This?" She asked. "This is an old pair of binoculars. I was bird watching."
Heather released the breath she'd been holding. "Bird watching? In the middle of the night?"
Josephine shrugged. "Why not? The moon is shining bright, and I couldn't sleep. I'd better go back to bed. Good night."
She walked back into her little apartment. Heather stood still for a few seconds, considering what she had just seen and heard. A hint of doubt tugged at her gut. But Josephine’s story seemed plausible, particularly given her slightly eccentric nature. Plus, Heather’s stomachache might have just been hunger.
Or fatigue.
She needed to go back to bed as well.
Heather climbed the stairs and returned to her apartment.
A few hours later, when Heather woke for the second time and jumped out of bed, she was more than happy to be awake from a nightmare about the alcohol license hearing. For whatever strange reason, her brain decided to rerun some of her varied past, and well-forgotten drinking adventures in the craziest way.
"I wish I had an eraser to rub it all out of my memory," Heather mumbled to herself heading for the shower. A few minutes later, refreshed and in a better mood, she ran downstairs.
The kitchen was empty, bathed in early morning light. Josephine had to still be asleep after her nighttime walk on the beach, bird watching.
The cat ran towards her and brushed against her leg.
"Okay, okay... I'll feed you in a minute. But first – coffee." Heather pressed the button on the coffee maker, having prepared everything the night before.
Having to prepare her coffee before she could drink it was unthinkable, so she devised an evening ritual of getting it push-button ready.
Once the machine was gurgling happily, Heather headed for the cupboard.
"Here you go, Kea," Heather whispered to the cat, stifling a giggle.
If she could convince her the cat responded to his new name, maybe Josephine would accept it.
She left the cat with his breakfast and grabbed herself a mug of the steaming, life-instilling brew.
Actually, a walk on the beach might be not a bad idea at all.
She threw a cardigan over her pajamas and slipped on a pair of sandals. The sand would still be cold at this time of day, but Heather didn't mind. She sneaked through the door, holding her coffee tight.
Her mother would have been appalled. Not only was she carrying a piece of homeware outdoors, she was also dressed in little more than her pajamas! But at the mature age of 45, having survived an acrimonious divorce, Heather was more than ready for independence, and couldn’t care less what other people thought of her.
Inspired by the bout of defiance, Heather jumped off the raised terrace and marched towards the sea. She would have run, but she didn't want to spill any of her coffee.
The sun was emerging right in front of her, sprinkling millions of twinkles on the sea. The sand smooth with the waves, shimmered silvery. The air was chilly and smelled of seaweed.
Heather directed her steps towards the new huts. In the warm morning light, they looked even more dreamy and fairylike than normal. She loved the pastel colors: pink, blue, green... So unlike Frida's usual choice of bold, saturated primaries.
Maybe this was the reason Frida didn't like talking about them? Maybe the board had chosen the design she didn't approve of it?
Either way, Heather was happy with the outcome. The little huts fit perfectly with her vision for the revitalized café. Moreover, given this would be a painting retreat, it fit in with the direction she had in mind for the new décor for the Career Crisis Café.
Because she was definitely going to rename Kea Café at some point. Career Crisis Café sounded so much better!
She walked up to one of the little huts to have a closer look. She climbed the little stairs and approached the window.
Curious to see what the inside was like, Heather pressed her nose against the pane.
A person was slumped in one of only two chairs in the room.
Heather blinked.
The person was fully dressed, in jeans and a dark T-shirt, her arms spread wide. An easel stood by her side and a few little pots were scattered around on the floor.
A nighttime painter?
Fallen asleep?
Heather stared at the woman in the chair. There was something familiar in her long, curvy outline.
Heather chewed on her lip.
Was it the quarrelsome Rose?
Heather stood still, watching the woman's body. And the more she looked, the more she suspected that Rose, if it was indeed her, was not moving.
Heather gulped. She knocked on the door, lightly.
No reaction.
She knocked a little harder.
Still nothing.
Heather grabbed the handle and pushed. The door opened.
With her heart hammering, Heather stepped into the cold, quiet room. Frida was right, the hut's furnishing was quite basic: a simple table, two chairs, and enough room for an easel and probably a bed at the back.
Heather approached the woman spread in the chair. She stopped and listened.
No sound of breathing.
Heather knelt and grabbed the woman's wrist.
No pulse.
She pressed her two fingers against the woman's neck. Her hands trembled as she searched for the pulse.
Nothing.
The woman's face was pale. Her lips seemed strangely bright as if stained with something red. Heather scanned the rest of the body.
A similar dark red stain darkened the woman's right index finger and her thumb.
"Oh, Lord!"
Heather clambered to her feet. The woman was dead.
She ran towards the house but suddenly, two figures appeared in the distance.
A man walking a dog?
"James," Heather yelled, jumping up and down. She was always happy to see her retired cop neighbor but this morning it was even more special. "Come here, quick!"
A couple of minutes later, James Matthews and his dog, Axel, joined her.
"What’s wrong?" James asked, his brown eyes attentive.
"There is a dead body in the hut. I think she's been poisoned." Heather was breathing heavily. She had no idea where the suspicion of poisoning came from though. "Follow me," she said, turned on her heels and raced back toward the little beach house.
Heather stopped by the door, letting James come in. Axel stayed by her side.
She watched James check for vital signs.
"Did you touch anything?" James asked his voice tense and careful.
Heather shook her head.
"Only for a pulse. This is exactly the way I found the place," she explained. She told him quickly about her trip to the beach that morning.
"Is she really dead?" Heather asked.
James nodded and straightened up. He looked around the little room. He picked up one of the pots from the floor and held it close to the woman's lips.
"Do you think it's the same color?" he asked.
Heather tensed her knees, which felt a little wobbly. She took a few steps back into the cold inside. In the light coming from the door and the window, the shade of the paint in the pot and the stain on woman's lips seemed similar.
"There's a stain on her fingers as well," Heather prompted.
"I've seen it," James replied, nodding solemnly.
"What happened, do you think?" Heather asked, feeling lightheaded. She wanted to go outside and feel the cold breeze on her face again.
"We need a medical examiner to confirm it, but she's definitely dead," James said slowly. "And it looks like you're right. I think she might have been poisoned."
4
Heather waited for James to finish his call to the local police.
"What's going to happen now?" she asked.
"It depends," James replied, slipping his cell phone back into his pocket. "There will have to be an investigation."
"Will you be involved?" Heather asked, as lightly as she could. To be perfectly honest, she would like him to be.
Out of curiosity, of course.
Assuming, he’d be willing to share details of the investigation with her.
"It's not entirely my decision. The local force did appreciate my help last time. And being the only one in town with specialist detective experience might also be a factor."
Heather chuckled. James was probably the only one with so much experience in homicide in the whole region.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to be disrespectful of the deceased," she corrected herself. "I'm just curious what happened and why."
"Are you absolutely sure you've got no idea who this is?" James asked.
Heather hesitated. Should she tell him?
"I'm not sure I told you. But I think her name might Rose."
She told James about the argument she'd overheard in Frida's garden the previous morning.
"If so, Frida might be able to identify her?"
"It’s possible. I also wonder..." Heather paused. Was it really relevant?
"What is it?" James's voice took on a sharp tone.
"I think Frida might have been around the huts last night," she told him what she'd seen through the binoculars.
James nodded. "What's her full name? Where does she live? It looks like I need to put her as number one on my witness list."
"So, you're taking the case on?" Heather said, barely stopping herself from clapping her hands.
James smiled. "You're observant! I guess it comes with the job. Sneaky journalists," he added and winked. "But seriously speaking, I'm intrigued. I will jump in if they give me the chance."
He warned her that someone would come to take a proper statement from her and probably her fingerprints, for elimination purposes. She agreed and left James near the beach houses, waiting for the arrival of the local police and the forensic team. Axel walked with her nearly to the terrace and then he ran back to James.
A little too late. The moment Heather set her eyes on the terrace she saw the little black kitten watching her carefully.
The reproach in his eyes was palpable.
"It's not what it looks like," Heather said to the kitten. "I didn't even pet the dog."
The cat waved his tail and walked toward the nearest spot of sunlight.
So, was she pardoned or not?
Back in the kitchen, Heather poured herself a cup of already cold coffee. She'd left the first mug by the hut somewhere.
She added new grounds and poured more water into the machine. Even though the extra adrenaline from her morning discovery made her fully awake, she needed a little more of her favorite drink.
Although some of the previous night’s cocktail might still be left in the fridge, Heather suspected her day would be spent talking to various police officers and other people. Under the circumstances, having alcohol on her breath was probably not the best thing.
She waited for the brew to trickle into the jug.
Was Josephine still in bed?
The kitchen seemed untouched from the way she left it before going to bed. The door to Josephine's sleep-out was still closed. But learning from her previous experience, Heather preferred to check. She stood by the door listening. There was definitely movement inside. She could hear squeaking on the floor and some shuffling, as if someone was dragging boxes.
"Josephine, are you awake?" Heather called out. After all, she’d just made a major discovery no more than a hundred yards or so away from the house. This was probably an excuse big enough to wake up her roommate.
"I am, but don't come in," Josephine called back.
Heather paused with her hand on the door handle. Did she say come in or don't come in?
"May I come in?" Heather checked.
"No!" Josephine yelled. More shuffling and squeaking followed.
Despite Josephine's usual antisocial attitude, her response was unusual, but was it enough to force entry?
Definitely not. Josephine was probably not dressed decently enough to receive even Heather.
"Are you getting dressed? I just want to tell you about something. And wanted to check you were okay."
"I am. I've just decided to stay in bed a little longer," Josephine replied, now calmer. "I'm not feeling too well today."
Ah, that was understandable. Josephine didn't need any more bad news.
"I leave you to it. I hope you feel better soon."
Heather returned to grab her drink.
A large, white van rolled past the café and parked in the customers’ parking lot.
The window fitters had arrived early.
Heather sighed. Whether she liked it or not, Josephine would have to get up at some point. If Heather let them start with the café and leave Josephine’s sleep-out to the end, it should leave Josephine enough time to get ready.
"Josephine, I'm sorry but you'll have to get up. The window guys are here." She knocked on the door.
"Not now!" Clearly Josephine was in grumbling mode again.
"They will have to do it." Heather insisted. "This is the only slot they can fit us in for months. You know we need those windows. You need them."
Heather glued her ear to the door.
What the heck was going on inside?
A cupboard door slammed. Something swooshed past the door, which opened a few seconds later. Heather, wobbled, losing her balance for a second. Josephine's head ap
peared in the gap between door and frame.
"Can you ask them to do the other windows first?"
Heather craned her neck to see over Josephine's shoulder, but her roommate was a good head taller.
"Sure, I'll ask them. But still..." Heather ducked. In the gap between Josephine's arm and the doorframe she could see a small section of the bedroom. The floor was covered with papers. A large box stood by the bed. Heather vaguely recalled seeing the box on the large, carved wardrobe in the corner.
Josephine moved to block the view.
"So, do that, please," she replied, and slammed the door in Heather's face.
Heather shrugged. Josephine was not in her best mood today. But at this moment, she had more important things to worry about. Like the window fitters.
Heather opened the back door at the precise moment the window fitters were about to knock. She greeted them and gave them the instructions. The guys got down to work.
Ten minutes later, Josephine, dressed in her favorite black slacks, and the same jacket she had on during the night, emerged from her sleep-out. One of the pockets bulged.
Did she have the binoculars in the pocket again?
"Are you okay for them to do it now?" Heather asked.
"Yes but tell them to be quick. I think I'll spend the day in bed," Josephine explained heading for the exit.
"Where are you going" Heather asked, suddenly realizing she hadn't told Josephine about the body in the hut. "You may want to avoid the beach."
Josephine froze with her hand on the door handle. She turned her head and looked at Heather from over her shoulder.
"Why?"
A definite hint of hostility entered Josephine's voice.
Heather suppressed the urge to say something sarcastic. Yes, she was angry at her roommate for being unreasonable and hostile, but she was also concerned about the older woman’s well-being. Particularly if Josephine hadn't slept well last night and was not feeling very well now. She didn't want her to stumble across a murder scene.
Assuming it was a murder.
"There will be police down the beach," Heather replied hesitantly. "It isn't something you might want to see if you already do not feel too well."
"The police? Okay, I'll avoid the beach."
"So where are you heading?" Heather repeated. "Given you’re not feeling very well, I'm just asking so I know," she added promptly.