Deadly Start

by Clark Phillipa Nefri

  Tomorrow she’d make a checklist of everything she had left to do before Christmas Day. Then, she had Sunday free to go shopping, and visit the Christmas Tree farm. Perhaps that was her opportunity to ensure the little family had enough. Because from the lack of money Abbie had at the supermarket and selling their only child-friendly car, the signs pointed to a difficult festive season.

  The first hour the bookshop was open saw no customers. Not one. Rosie and Charlotte had both brought lunch with them and expected to be run off their feet until the earlier Saturday closing time of four.

  “Is this her doing?” Rosie muttered under her breath as she peered out the window for the third time.

  “Rosie, come and have your coffee because once the rush begins, you’ll have no chance. And no, Octavia Morris does not control the buying habits of a whole community, especially not after one day.”

  “How did you hear me?”

  “I have super-hearing. Just one of my superpowers.”

  Unable to do anything but smile, Rosie wheeled around the counter to her usual spot. “What are the other ones? These superpowers?”

  “You’ll find out over time. They mostly revolve around being bossy in times of crisis. Ask your son.”

  Rosie shot her a look with her eyebrows raised, but Charlotte did a zipping motion across her mouth. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  “You are being quite mean. Using my son to get my attention then refusing to divulge why. I will ask him.” She picked up her coffee and drank.

  “See. Isn’t that better? Now, you enjoy that, and I’ll fill you in on the events of last night after I left you.”

  In a few sentences, Charlotte told Rosie about her chance meeting with Abbie and her thoughts about the financial situation up at the farm. She left out mention of Sid.

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear Abbie had trouble at the register, but thankful you were there. I admit to worrying about that little family. They might have been better to sell the place when Darcy’s dad passed on, rather than try and regenerate a sinking business.”

  “Why would they leave their own home and come here? It seems risky.” Charlotte picked up her own coffee.”

  “Family pride. Darcy has volumes of belief in hard work, responsibility, and doing the right thing. He’d have been heartbroken at the state the place got into and if there are outstanding rates to pay, he’d want to pay them.”

  “Is there a market up here for properties so large?”

  Rosie nodded. “Always. We’re one of those fast growth regions and council don’t seem to mind encouraging it. So far though the town has overturned a few of their planning decisions, but a big parcel of land like Darcy’s would surely attract developers.”

  “Not a fan of some developers.”

  “Do you mean the one your friend was engaged to? Christie? Didn’t he try to sink the yacht she was on or something?”

  “Yes. Quite an interesting personality mix in him. Narcissist with sociopath tendencies. And really cunning.” Charlotte stared into the distance. “The sort of patient I’d love to have but would end up walking away from.”

  “What do you think of me?”

  Charlotte turned to Rosie with a frown. “I don’t actually analyse everyone I meet. And never you, or anyone I care about. Not unless they have asked for help and I need more insight.”

  “But I’m curious.”

  “From the look of things, we’re about to have company.” Thank goodness. “But I will say the two words that make me smile about you.”

  “Oh? Crazy cat lady? That’s three. Or, world’s best boss?”

  “Which is also three. I had no idea your maths was so bad.”

  People stepped out of a car parked outside.

  “I was thinking along the lines of tough cookie.” Charlotte said.

  Rosie thought about it. “I do like cookies.”

  “Careful or I shall analyse you. Come on, time to make a whole lot of money.” Charlotte grinned and got up to greet the customers as they wandered in. “Good morning! How may I help this lovely day?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  At the busiest part of the day, a tall man and very short lady waited patiently at the counter as both Rosie and Charlotte contended with what felt like an endless stream of customers. Rosie took money and chatted. Charlotte gift wrapped.

  Rosie had acknowledged the couple and asked if they minded waiting, so there they stayed, for at least ten minutes. When at last there was a break at the counter, although Charlotte continued roaming the shop from customer to customer, Rosie had reached her hand out to shake theirs.

  “Charlie, this is Pastor and Mrs Stevens. They are generously helping with the giving box. Pastor, Mrs Stevens, please meet Charlotte Dean who recently joined me here.”

  That done, Charlotte took off to take books from someone with a tower in their arms and missed much of the conversation. The next time she looked, they’d left, and the giving box was empty. Not for long though, with two more donations—this time with a request the books go to a residential aged home—straight back in the box.

  The shop empty again, Charlotte flopped onto her stool and gulped some water.

  “You are a little powerhouse, darling. Two more hours then a whole day to recover!”

  “Gonna need it! So, your visitors took everything?”

  “They run a local charity and although I’m not personally a church goer, have seen the wonderful work they’ve done in the community in the past. I’ve every confidence they’ll spread the love around.”

  “But we’ve still got the books for Lachie?”

  “Of course. And look at the collection!”

  Charlotte turned around. On the back counter were seven, no eight gift wrapped books for him. They ranged from the latest age-appropriate fiction to a biography of a sportsperson he apparently liked, and a very cool book about young entrepreneurs. That should keep him busy for a while.

  “What about his parents?” she asked.

  “I don’t know Abbie very well so don’t know what she likes. And Darcy is not a reader.”

  “What if we put together a hamper? Things for the new baby, plus some Christmas goodies they might not splash out on.” Charlotte suggested. “I’m going up there tomorrow, so maybe I can get some ideas.”

  “Are you being a sleuth again?”

  “Probably. The problem is timing. If I discover items they might use that aren’t available in Kingfisher Falls, there’s little time left to shop elsewhere.”

  “Or, a gift voucher. The supermarkets all sell them.”

  “What a good idea!”

  Marguerite Browne walked past the shop. Halfway past the second window she turned and made her way inside. Charlotte and Rosie exchanged a glance.

  “Right.” Marguerite said as she leaned on the counter with both hands. “You’re both here. Excellent.”

  “How may we help, Mrs Browne?” Charlotte stood, a smile on her face.

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “If you are going to be rude, Marguerite—” Rosie started.

  “No! No, please don’t think that for one minute! I really don’t need Carol’s help.”

  “Charlotte.”

  “Anyway, I came to apologise on behalf of the Kingfisher Falls Bookclub. And Octavia, although she won’t admit it.”

  Rosie laced her fingers together. “Really.”

  “I wasn’t here to know exactly what was said, but from Octavia’s account, there was a misunderstanding about the ordering of the books for our next meeting.”

  “Not a misunderstanding, but please continue.”

  “She was worried we wouldn’t have time to receive the books in question, get them to our members, and organise one of our nights. December is such a busy month and then in January, a lot of the ladies go away on holiday, so the dates are quite critical.”

  “I appreciate that, Marguerite. Really, I do understand the timing, but it is out of my control. I’d love to provid
e the books for you as I have done for so many years.” Rosie was calm and still. “Whatever happens, my commitment to the readers of Kingfisher Falls hasn’t wavered, and you really should know that.”

  Marguerite wouldn’t meet Rosie’s eyes. “Um. Of course. You are a valued member of the community.”

  “But Octavia said otherwise. She really hurt my feelings, in fact. And for the record, I have nothing at all against you. Or Sid. I only judge people by the things they do, not who they really are.”

  That’s my Rosie.

  “She shouldn’t have raised the past.” Marguerite straightened. “What happened back then is best forgotten. Don’t you agree? Anyway, it is almost Christmas. A time for family. Well, except for poor Octavia who really does feel alone at this time of year since Darcy’s mother stole her husband away.”

  “No doubt Darcy’s father felt the same about Octavia’s husband, but as you say, it is almost Christmas and I believe it is a perfect opportunity to show our generosity. Pastor and Mrs Stevens have collected most of the contents of the giving box, and I’d love to refill it by Christmas Eve.” Rosie gestured to the box with a smile. “Do you know we also donate five dollars from every book put into the box?”

  Marguerite narrowed her eyes. “Nice of you. And where will those funds go?”

  “We haven’t decided, but there is a small family who are doing it tough this year and could benefit from some community support.” Rosie said.

  “I will buy another book, but neither it nor the donation are to go to the Forests. If that’s who you refer to.” Marguerite flicked through some discounted books near the counter.

  Charlotte opened her mouth to respond, but Rosie beat her to it.

  “As I won’t guarantee that, nor be dictated to in my own shop, I’d suggest you don’t partake in this charitable venture unless you have a heart open to the plight of those less fortunate than themselves. Whoever they are.”

  How Rosie said it with such sweetness and calmness was beyond Charlotte, who was about to say something similar, but in very plain terms.

  Hand on a book, Marguerite froze. A flush of red rose from her neck to her face and she snatched her hand away as though bitten. Without another word or look, she stalked out of the shop.

  “Whoops.” Rosie didn’t sound the least bit concerned.

  “You are officially my hero.” Charlotte said. “Who does that? Offers charity as long as it excludes the very people who need it.”

  Rosie gazed out to the street. Marguerite was out of sight. “I fear I’ve made things worse. Whatever little step we took forward, we just fell backwards over the cliff.”

  “You stood up for the shop. And your ethics. You can only control your own actions, not theirs.”

  Pay attention, Charlie. Applies to you also.

  Chapter Thirty

  Retaliation came quickly. Within a few minutes, Sid set up a breathalyser stop outside the bookshop. He parked his patrol car out from the kerb, its lights flashing, then cordoned off several parking spaces with witches’ hats. But then he did nothing other than lean back on the bonnet of his car and stare into the shop.

  The rush of customers slowed to a trickle. People complained of needing to park much further away and walk back. Rosie and Charlotte apologised to customers for the inconvenience more than sold books, or so it seemed.

  “Shouldn’t have said anything.” Rosie glared at Sid and he waved.

  “Ignore him. That’s all I do.”

  “Meaning?” Rosie wheeled to the back of the shop with a lap full of books. “What’s he done now?”

  “Oh, I just mean when I come across him like this. He wants you to bite.”

  “This is one of my busiest days of the year and he does this.” She began stocking a low shelf, her hands shaking.

  Charlotte took the books from her. “We need to do something about him. If I leave the shop, he’ll probably follow me. Should I try it?”

  Rosie sighed. “No. You are right, and I should focus on getting everything as nice as possible in here while it isn’t too busy. Monday will be like nothing you’ve seen…unless he does that again.”

  “You know what? If he does, I’ll go for a walk somewhere. Even if it means you coping alone for a little bit.”

  “But what if he stops you?”

  With a laugh, Charlotte got to her feet. “I might have once told Trev I’m not a runner, but I can certainly out move a certain unfit police officer.”

  “Unfit in more than one way.”

  “We should make an anonymous call that there’s a carton of cigarettes waiting on his doorstep.”

  “I’m shocked, Charlie!” Rosie couldn’t keep a straight face. “Only a carton?”

  Both women burst into laughter.

  Sid crossed his arms and stepped closer.

  “Does he think we’re laughing at him?” Charlotte almost choked as she struggled to control her giggles.

  “I hope so.”

  He was now at the window, peering in.

  “We’re going to be arrested for laughing without a permit.” Rosie waved to him. “Or whatever nonsense he comes up with.”

  For an instant it did look as though Sid would storm in. Instead, he turned around and packed up the witches’ hats, throwing them into the boot and slamming it down. A moment later he drove off, almost hitting another car coming from behind him.

  “Oh my.” Rosie’s hand went to her mouth.

  “Yes. And this is local law enforcement.”

  “Thank goodness he’s moved on.”

  Charlotte agreed, but her gut told her this was far from the end of the interference from Sid and the book club ladies.

  There was a sudden thunderstorm not long after Rosie left for the day. Charlotte hoped she’d made it home before the rain came. The day’s takings were disappointing, only boosted by the busy couple of hours in the morning and a last-minute customer who purchased two series and then donated three autobiographies to the giving box.

  As much as Rosie had brushed off Sid’s attempt to hurt the business today, and Marguerite’s odd visit, Charlotte had seen the distress in her eyes, the forced smiles as the day went on.

  This kind and gentle woman didn’t deserve such appalling treatment. That Sid was a police officer made it more offensive to Charlotte. He was supposed to protect people from the bad guys, not be one himself.

  Laptop open to distract herself from the storm, Charlotte visited the bookshop’s Facebook page. A few new page likes. But there were more reviews. Bad ones.

  Tried to make me donate to their cause. Refused to serve me when I wouldn’t.

  Asked for books to be ordered and was told to go elsewhere.

  Not friendly.

  Owner laughed at person with a disability.

  “What the hell?” Charlotte couldn’t believe what she was reading. Unless it was Sid and he thought he had one, but who on earth would say this of a wheelchair-bound woman? The first three statements were from Annoyed Customer, Shocked Customer, Sad Customer.

  “Make that Marguerite Browne, Octavia Morris, and possibly Glenys Lane.” Charlotte murmured.

  The fourth name was Disenworb the Greatest. “Not just great?”

  She flicked to first bad review from the other day—Disenworb the Great.

  None of the names were clickable, so either they’d set their privacy setting to stop her seeing their pages or were fake accounts. Or both.

  Something made her take screenshots of the comments. She saved these in a file she named Christmas Tree Thief. Next, Charlotte searched Facebook for the names attributed to the reviews. The two Disenworb pages existed. Both set up in the last week and neither with any other information. She reported the pages to Facebook as fake accounts.

  Thunder rattled the windows and Charlotte glanced out of the window. It was almost dark from the cloud cover as rain bucketed down. She shivered even though it was warm enough and focused on the laptop, typing in Sid’s name.

  His face came
up as the profile image. Charlotte scrolled through some of his posts, wishing she hadn’t when she came across racist memes and support for certain political parties with dreadful human rights policies. Tired of it, she clicked on his friends list. There weren’t many. No names she recognised from her limited knowledge of the locals. All this told her was stuff she could guess.

  There was a bio. Sid Browne—the Greatest.

  She grabbed a pen and wrote out Disenworb. “Hah! Sid and Browne spelt backwards.” Charlotte took a screenshot of the top of his page, then reported it. Might as well put him under some scrutiny. She saved that screenshot in her new file.

  This was getting somewhere, although she had no idea quite where. Presumably the police department had rules about social media and their staff. It felt important she kept records of anything she discovered about Sid.

  Before closing Facebook, Charlotte searched for the book club ladies. None of them kept accounts from what she could find.

  Finally, the Christmas Tree farm. To her surprise there was a business page for it, although an old one. There were no new posts for some months and those were from Darcy introducing himself and asking customers to watch out for updates on opening times.

  The cover photo was beautiful. Taken at sunrise, light filtered through the pine trees to the house. It was inviting and showed a home once well maintained and loved. How sad it had fallen into disrepair. The star rating of the business was two out of five. More of the nasty lies from the bookshop page and over a period of weeks. If this was the work of Sid Browne, one had to ask why. And if he hated the Forests so much, was he behind the thefts? And if so, exactly how was Charlotte going to prove it?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Overnight the storm passed, leaving a clear sky and the coolest air since Charlotte arrived in Kingfisher Falls. She stood at the pool beneath the falls as the sun rose, casting the first rays through the forest around her.

  The falls almost thundered, swollen from the rain and filling the pool until it was level with the ground around it. Water flowed faster in the narrow river, which was also much higher than her last visit.