by Emily Selby
"Greeting the sun! You should have seen it. Her bum was almost naked, and she was sticking it up in the air!" Josephine said in a conspiratorial whisper, her eyes almost popping out of their sockets.
Heather closed her mouth and nodded.
It seemed that Josephine was talking about the right person.
"That was probably a yoga position. She's a yoga fanatic," Heather added. "I mean, she was."
Josephine slammed her hands on the table.
"She's bonkers," Josephine stated. "That what she is."
"Was," Heather interrupted.
Josephine threw her a dagger of a stare.
"Was," she corrected herself. "Actually, what she was... used to be is a lovely woman," she added quietly after a pause. "I don't know what happened to her. This last year she's been real bad. But then," she added quietly, as if to herself. "It might be just the family influence. Any normal person would have gone bonkers in that family."
Heather opened her mouth, wanting to ask more questions, but Josephine stood up.
"I see they haven't finished with the bathroom yet," she commented, watching two fitters emerging from behind her sleep-out and running through the rain to their van.
The image of the empty laxative boxes popped in Heather's head.
"If you need the bathroom, you can use mine," she offered.
"I'll use the guest loo, downstairs. Chrissy cleaned it before the weekend."
"I don't mind. You may feel more comfortable using mine," Heather stated, wriggling in her chair. She was concerned about her roommate’s health but sensed the embarrassment of the situation. "You know, if your inner plumbing's not working that perfectly..."
Josephine blinked. "My what?" she asked.
"Your bowels... Haven't you got problems with... You know..." Heather paused and wiggled in her chair again.
"No? Why would I?"
"The empty boxes, anti-constipation medicine."
"Ah, that," Josephine dismissed. "That was for Frances. She asked me for it yesterday. Apparently, she's been having problems with hers. My, er, condition is back to normal now."
Josephine turned on her heels and marched back inside.
"Glad to hear that," Heather replied to her hunched back.
The rain stopped, and the sun appeared in the gaps between rapidly dissipating clouds. Strange weather they had here, in Northland.
On the positive side, now Josephine was back, Heather could go for a walk on the beach and maybe bump into James. Or Frida, and ask them a few questions...
6
With Axel in her care, Heather had to wait for another hour or so for her walk, but finally, James appeared on the horizon. She dropped the book on the table and waved at him. He waved back, approaching slowly. His broad-shouldered, dark outline contrasting with the blinding colors of the beach around him: white gold and sparkling blue. With the palm trees framing the view on one side, if she didn't know he was a senior cop, investigating a suspicious death, she'd think she was on a romantic getaway on a tropical island, waiting for a handsome stranger to bring her a drink.
Heather closed her eyes.
Yeah, that was exactly the feeling she was after. The sand, the sea and the palm trees somewhere to the side, with hammocks swinging gently in the breeze...
The breeze that cooled the sun-drenched bodies...
Drenched bodies...
Heather shuddered and opened her eyes. There was no way she could focus on transforming her ailing café into a tropical resort if she had dead or almost-dead bodies popping up here and there.
"All good?" James asked, stopping just a few steps away from terrace. Axel crawled from under the table, his tail tapping on the wooden floorboard.
Heather opened her mouth. A loud drilling drowned her out, and she waited for it to end.
"It depends," she replied. "How are things on the forensic end?"
James gave Axel a rub behind his ears and attached the leash to his collar.
"It looks like you were right. There has been a lot of animosity between the victim and Frida."
"Yoga positions in the garden and wide-open doors to let positive energy in?"
James' brown eyes twinkled. "It might have been more than that."
"What?"
"I'm sure you can find it out using your journalistic skills. I could probably trade this information to you in exchange for something else I may need, but I suspect if you set off on a little enquiry, it may yield even better results."
Heather's pulse accelerated.
"Hey, you're using me!"
"Maybe," he said seriously, and took a deep breath. "Remember what I said last time about the locals not wanting to talk to me?"
Heather crossed her arms. Where was he heading with this? Could she trust him?
"I do," she replied slowly. "They're still not talking to you?"
"Not much. So, if you could-"
"Snoop around for you?"
"No, not really," he said quickly, his tanned cheeks taking on a deeper hue. "But if you hear or see anything that might shed light onto the case, let me know. Even if you think it's common knowledge."
At least, it wasn't a sneaky request to be a police mole. Heather unfolded her arms and clasped her hands.
"What sort of things do you mean?"
It would help her own little snooping, which she was planning to do anyway.
"Anything to do with the arguments between Frida and Rose. I'm aware of the problems with the company ... Oops!" His hand landed on his mouth. "I think I might have just told you too much," he added, grinning, "but you would have found out anyway. I'm interested in any threats made to Frida by Rose or anyone else. Also, any threats made by Rose towards anyone else."
Heather nodded. A plan was crystalizing in her head...
Once James and Axel had gone, Heather checked on the progress of the window fitting. Derek and his team had finished in Josephine's sleep-out and were preparing the main café area. The door to Josephine's sleep-out was closed.
Heather knocked.
"Josephine," she called out. "Are you there?"
"Yes, why?" Josephine replied after a while.
"I wanted to pop into town. You need to keep an eye on the workers, alright? And the cat has disappeared again, so make sure he's safe."
"Are you going to be away for long?"
There was a strange, anxious note in Josephine's voice.
"Why?" Heather asked.
"I've got some stuff to go through. Paperwork ... It's very inconvenient."
Inconvenient? As if it was Heather who had been disappearing for hours!
"Are you alright, Josephine?"
Her roommate and employee had been behaving strangely since last night, really. Maybe she'd taken all those laxatives and now ... Heather flinched and pressed the handle.
Locked.
"I told you I am fine," her voice boomed through the door. "Now, you go and sort out what you need to do. Be back soon, because I can't be watching the workers all day."
"Okay," Heather replied, but stayed planted on the spot. She leant towards the door and listened.
Shuffling and rustling made it through the door, as if Josephine was, indeed, going through some documents.
What was she looking for?
Heather checked her watch.
I wonder if Frida's back home yet...
Given that Heather had found the body and rung Frida, her popping in shouldn't appear too suspicious.
"Derek?" she yelled over the noise of furniture shuffling.
"Yes?" he appeared from behind a large cupboard.
"If you need anything, Josephine is in her bedroom. Knock loudly. I'll be back in an hour."
She hurried through the front door before anything else could delay her.
A few minutes later, after dodging puddles on the sidewalk, Heather rang the bell by the pastel-blue door. The turquoise wooden notice with "Life is a Beach" carved on it wobbled.
"Open," a voice call
ed from the inside.
Heather pushed the door and entered a long hallway, which was lit by a large skylight. The walls were white and adorned, like the rest of the house, with little pictures of sandy beaches, waves, shells and seahorses.
A true beach lover's sanctuary.
"It's Heather," she called. "Where are you, Frida?"
"In the bathroom. I won't be a minute." The voice was coming from one of the side doors, marked, very appropriately with a tiny drawing of a potty.
Josephine's comment about Frida's recent request popped in Heather's mind.
The medicine has worked, then...
Heather giggled.
"I'll wait for you in the kitchen, if you don't mind," she said. She didn't feel comfortable being within the earshot of anyone in such dire need of a bathroom.
"That's fine," Frida shouted back.
The sound of running water caught Heather's ear.
She entered the kitchen.
She loved Frida's kitchen as it was arranged in the same marine-inspired color scheme, with all sorts of sea artifacts: a paddle on the wall, a clock mounted on a yacht steering wheel, seahorse-shaped salt and pepper shakers.
The shakers were her favorite and were made from glazed clay, blue for salt, and coral for pepper. She ran her fingers along the features etched into the surface. Frida made them herself.
"Oh, you're playing with my shakers again."
Heather turned to face Frida. The artist's face was reddish. Water droplets glistened on her forehead, her white hair was wet. The smudges under the eyes were the only remnants of the morning's makeup.
"I love them," Heather replied. "Can you teach me how to make this sort of thing?"
A smile stretched Frida's lips, but her eyes remained weary.
"You need to sign up for one of my pottery workshops. We'll have one soon."
"In the huts? They're lovely."
"Thank you," Frida replied. "But I'm not sure how things are going to go now..."
Heather jumped at the opportunity.
"I'm sorry about Rose. Are you okay? I wanted to check on you."
"I'm glad they let me come home. I couldn't stand being there. If I close my eyes, I can still see her body.” Frida shuddered.
"So do I," Heather said. "Any updates on what's happened? What was she even doing there?"
Frida collapsed on the nearby pouf, in a shade of turquoise a little darker than the walls. She gestured Heather to join her on its twin.
Heather obeyed.
"As I thought, it looked as though she'd gone painting. She had the pots all over the floor."
"And on her fingers and her lips," Heather added, promptly. "Strange..."
Frida shook her head.
"Not at all. Rose started using natural paints recently. One of her recent fads. She's even been trying to make the paints herself."
Interesting...
"Were they edible?"
Frida raised her brows, since she must have washed off the makeup, there were two now.
"I don't think they were toxic in any way. She just used juice - berries, beetroots, that kind of stuff. Why?"
"What was the stain on her lips from?"
Frida looked at her for a few seconds, her brows drawn down.
"The police asked me about it, too. She painted with her fingers at times. She might have put her finger to her lip. She was like that." Frida shrugged. "Crazy woman."
Hadn't she heard that already?
"Why so?"
Frida blew out her cheeks.
"She's been behaving more and more erratically. The paints, finger painting, wanting to practice yoga at all times of day and night, mainly night. And arguing about everything and anything. She's been a nightmare to have around."
"She was ... Now she's no more ..." Heather observed quietly and watched Frida's face.
Will she take the hint?
Frida froze. Her face darkened.
"Are you implying that I'm happy she's dead?"
Heather's heart flipped.
Hey, why not?
"I would be if I had to put up with a guest like that for too long," Heather said. "If she was such a nuisance, why didn't you tell her to leave? Why did you even take her booking in the first place? Couldn't you have told her you were full?"
Frida closed her eyes and shook her head long and hard. A few silver strands slipped out of the ponytail.
"I've tried, believe me, I've tried. I can't ban her. As one of the board of directors, she is entitled to spending a certain amount of time here. She owns shares ... too many shares. Obviously, telling her we're booked up would never fly. And..." Frida's voice trembled. "And when I try to limit her stays here, and limit her influence over the board decisions, she took me to the court, accusing me of unfair prejudice towards her as a minority shareholder."
"What?" Heather head spun.
"It's all to do with the way a limited company is run. I created the company with a few friends. Over the years, one of the friends retired and sold her shares, another emigrated and wanted out. We were struggling financially, and then, Rose Waters came along and seemed happy to help."
"You sold your company to her?" Heather asked, still confused.
"No, she was a minority shareholder, but such a pain in the neck. She's been demanding information on a lot of things, disagreeing with my management of the company. And then there was that court case..." she gasped. "A cherry on the cake, really! It's been dragging on, as she keeps adding stuff and the court asks me to provide information on this and that..." Frida covered her face with her hands. "It's been a total nightmare. I just want to paint and help people learn. Not waste my time, money and health being investigated!"
So, Rose was a problematic shareholder disagreeing with Frida's management. A court case, dragging on. A nightmare. All over now.
Plenty of motives...
Heather reached to the tissue box on the shelf, (made from a wooden crate painted white) , and passed one to Frida.
She nodded in thanks.
But Frida was one of Heather’s local friends. A good woman, maybe a bit eccentric, but who wasn't?
Was she capable of murder?
Heather chewed on her upper lip for a while. As an avid mystery books reader, she searched her brain for tips on finding suspects.
"If the police think the death was suspicious, was there anyone else who might have wanted to harm her?"
Frida's jerked her head up.
"What do you mean by 'anyone else'?" she asked sharply.
Heather's cheeks burned.
Filter your thoughts, Heather!
"Sorry, I meant, 'anyone who might have wished her ill?'"
"Like who?"
"Children or a husband who inherits money, or the shares in the company?"
"Her children are grown, I've never met them. As for her husband ... Bother! I need to ring him. Unless the police already told him. Oh!" Frida moaned.
"What is it?"
"Her husband, Jon... I don't like him. He's a ... I don't like him."
You said that twice. There must be a reason for it.
"The police will have talked to him, surely," Heather suggested. If she could encourage Frida to ring the husband now, Heather might be able to overhear something useful.
Or just interesting.
"I gave them his number. They tried ringing when I was there but couldn't get hold of him. They left the message for him to ring them back."
"Isn’t he here?" Heather pushed on with her subtle investigation.
"No. He's fishing with his mates, somewhere near Dargaville, in Kaipara Harbor."
"That's on the other side of the island, isn't it?"
"Yes. About two hours’ drive. He'll be probably heading here now. Maybe I'd better ring him later. Or I'll send him a message."
Frida jumped to her feet.
"Do you think he could have done it?"
Frida eyed Heather carefully. Deep lines appeared on her forehead.
A good alibi. But was it rock solid? She'd ask James what he thought of it.
Frida grabbed the kettle.
"I'm parched. All that crying must have drained my water reserves. Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Yes, please." Heather clapped her hands. She wasn't a tea fan, but Frida was. "Probably something calming, if you have it. We've been through a lot today."
While Frida busied herself with the tea paraphernalia, Heather counted all the sea-themed knickknacks in the kitchen. She reached seventeen when her phone rang.
"Where are you, Heather?" Josephine's voice brimmed with anxiety. "You need to come back immediately. These guys here keep interrupting me. And I'm looking for a very important document. I can't cope with all this chaos."
Josephine ended the call before Heather could respond. She stood up.
"I'm afraid I may need to go back home right now," she said apologetically. "We're having new windows fitted today and Josephine is ... busy with something urgent. Give me a ring, if you need any help, or just want to talk," she added, heading for the door.
Josephine was certainly not herself today, and it added to Heather's growing sense of discomfort.
7
Heather returned to the café to find Josephine in the middle of an almighty meltdown. The window fitters had accidentally knocked the nameplate off the café's door. The piece of carved wood had fallen on the floor and snapped in two parts, right through the kea's head. Josephine was standing in the doorway, with two pieces of the sign in her hands, her eyes throwing thunderbolts.
"This nameplate was made especially for me, for this café by my grandfather," she boomed. "This was my lucky charm!"
Not very effective, I'm afraid...
"I said we're sorry," Derek replied. He was standing beside Josephine, with a hand drill resting on his shoulder. His deep frown suggested this conversation must have been going on for some time. "Heather, miss," he said and waved at her with his free hand. "Could you just take care of your friend? I need to get on with the job."