by Emily Selby
Chrissy pulled her phone from her handbag and a couple of minutes later she had news to share.
"She's in a coma," Chrissy said. "Turns out, it was a morphine overdose."
"Morphine?" Heather gasped. She knew of people back home who took it for pain, and some might have become addicted, but Josephine?
"Has she been taking it? Any pain issues?"
"Not that I'm aware," Chrissy replied. "She had some minor aches and pains, as anyone her age, but she's generally a healthy and fit person."
"Ah... Oh..." Heather stammered, looking for ways to ask the question that had been brewing in her head.
Chrissy shook her head so vehemently, a stand of hair slipped out of her glossy, dark braid.
"No, never. She despises drug abuse. She never drinks much either. I'm surprised she even drank your cocktail."
Heather winced at the reminder of her cocktails. "She did add rather a lot of iced tea to it," Heather recalled.
"Could someone have slipped something into her drink?" Chrissy asked. "People spike other people's drinks all the time. I've had a couple of friends who had experiences like that," she carried on. "You can't just go to a party safely these days."
Heather gulped. "But there were only four of us there. We kept together. And why would anyone want to do that?"
Chrissy tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"I'm just trying to understand what's happened, that's all," Chrissy replied, reaching for her handbag. "Do you want me to go or stay and clean?"
Heather hesitated but having something useful to focus on in the current circumstances sounded good. She could help as well.
"Right, let’s go for it. A bit of cleaning will help take my mind off things."
"Okay. I'll need some cleaning supplies. Have you got any?"
"I've no clue. Can we check, please?"
Chrissy nodded and headed straight for the cupboard in the little hallway. Half a minute later it was clear, Heather had to do a shopping trip.
"I'll take these chairs off the tables in the meantime," Chrissy announced.
Heather grabbed her purse. "Where do I go?"
"There is the Warehouse, but you'd have to drive there. Or you can try Marty's All Sorts Store. It's just a few minutes away. I've got a list here." She handed Heather a piece of paper.
The sun was (sort of) shining and Heather was longing to explore the town a little more than she had yesterday, so her decision was quick.
"I'll go to town," she replied and left.
As soon as she set her foot on the sidewalk, a car flew past, honking.
Heather flashed a smile. It'd been ages since she was last honked at. She hardly knew anyone in town, so it must have been...
The car pulled up and the driver's side window opened, revealing a familiar, round face.
Well, the honking might have not been because of her looks, but she was recognizable. Such a shame she couldn't remember who the man was.
"Hi Heather, welcome to Dolphin Cove and to your new home," the middle-aged man greeted her.
"Hello and thank you," Heather approached the car. "I'm sorry I can't quite remember your name."
"I'm Ricky, Ricky Walmsley. You bought the café from me."
Heather's heart dropped right into her sandals. How embarrassing!
"Sorry, Ricky. To be fair, I mainly dealt with your lawyer and via emails. And... ehm... You looked a little different when we met in Auckland," she blurted.
"They do say that a suit makes the man, don't they?'" Ricky chuckled.
Heather opened her mouth to correct Ricky, explaining that the saying had "clothes" rather than "a suit" in it, but she just smiled. She lost one point in the opening of the exchange and didn't want to risk any more. She needed every friend she could make in this town.
"Where are you off to?" Ricky asked. "I can give you a lift," he offered.
"Marty's store."
"That's not too far, but I’m still happy to help."
Heather considered the length of Chrissy's list. "Actually, if you don't mind and have the time, it'd be great if you could help me carry the shopping back."
"We all have time here," Ricky replied, jumping out of the car to open the passenger door for her.
"So how was your first day?"
Heather blinked. Since he was asking her, he probably didn't know yet. "You haven't heard the news yet?"
"Nah, I live twenty minutes out of town. I've got a farm to run. No time for gossip."
Heather gave him an abridged version of the events from this morning, carefully omitting the suspicion of a deliberate action and the name of the drug.
Ricky's face became even redder. His eyes shone. "That's awful. I always thought she was fit as a fiddle. Out of the two of them, Josephine was the fitter one."
"I'm sorry about your mom. I didn't realize how she died," Heather said quietly.
"No worries. I still feel guilty though."
"How come?"
"I was the one who recommend the garage to her. Far as I knew, they were honest, hard-working guys. Maybe sometimes a little late with the paperwork, but reliable, trustworthy. I don't know what happened..." his voice trailed off.
A recent comment made by Helen popped up in Heather's head.
The botched brakes in Maree's car. And Ricky had inherited all her money and the café.
Did it matter?
Did it make sense?
Heather mulled things over as they drove in silence for a while.
"Why did you sell the café? Didn't you want to continue your mom's tradition?" she finally asked. She couldn't come up with anything connecting brake-tampering allegation with Josephine or, in fact, anything else. But her natural curiosity was piqued. She felt a tiny thrill in her chest, just the way she always had when sensing an intriguing story.
Ricky exhaled loudly. He pulled the car to a stop in front of a small store with the front completely open and a large sign swinging in the entrance announcing the place as Marty's All Sorts Store.
"No, a café is too much hassle. I barely have time to do whatever needs to be done on the farm. In spring, like now, it's insane. Last night, my wife and I spent several hours looking at options and discussing the plans for the cattle this year. We had my in-laws there. I tell you, that was a nightmare. I went to bed with a headache. Running the café would have caused nothing but more headaches. I'm so relieved you've bought it." He smiled at her. "Please, don't run away."
"I won't." Heather reassured him.
She didn't really have anywhere to go anyway. The family house in the New York suburbs she’d bought with her ex had been sold and the money from the sale, whatever was left split between the two of them.
In Heather's case, it had all but been spent on the café.
"I'll go and get what I need," Heather said, opening the door. "I'll be quick. I don't want to hold you up."
"No rush. My missus has given me the morning off. I'm planning to do some nothing-doing in the bar, once I've got the bank papers sorted."
So, even if he inadvertently contributed to Maree's death, Ricky had an alibi for the evening when Josephine's drink was spiked. But was the inheritance enough of a motivation?
And did he look like a murderer? In any case, what did a murderer look like?
Heather chewed on her lip, walking towards Marty's All Sorts Store.
Ricky had been up front and straight-up honest with her in all their dealings regarding the sale of the café. He appeared genuinely upset and guilty about recommending the garage. Nah, Ricky seemed like a decent guy, not someone capable of harming another person intentionally.
Heather entered the store. It was small, but packed with lots of useful stuff. Indeed, all sorts of stuff, but mainly household utensils and chemicals. She quickly found all the items from Chrissy's list, put them in the basket and approached the counter.
Marty looked friendly and seemed keen to talk. But conscious of Ricky waiting for her, Heather put aside
her wish to make friends and quickly found what she needed.
She stood by the cash register smiling all the time, hoping her friendly manner would somehow reduce the bad impression she must have made on the shop keeper.
As soon as Marty handed her the change, she grabbed the bags and left the store in a flash.
Ricky was waiting with the car trunk open. They loaded the shopping and hopped back into the car.
"Did your mom have any enemies?" Heather asked.
Ricky stared at her blankly.
Heather bit her lip. She might need to reconsider her questioning approach. Maybe she should soften it a little?
"You're not subscribing to that silly conspiracy theory that someone cut the brake lines? That's nonsense. I just think the guys from the garage must have screwed up. Why else would they had wound down the business and left the town completely?"
"I can see your point," Heather replied diplomatically. "But going back to mine. I gather your mom was quite well-liked."
"She was as loved as her coffee and her Danish pastries. Josephine is great with cakes and savory baking, but Mom was the pastry master chef."
They arrived at the café, and Ricky lifted the bags from the trunk.
"Thanks, Ricky. It's not heavy, I can carry it to the house," Heather said, taking the load from Ricky's hand.
"Are you sure?"
Heather nodded and trotted towards the door.
She had some thinking to do and needed to be alone with her thoughts. But first, she had to deliver all the cleaning stuff to Chrissy, who had finished uncoupling chairs and tables. The whole terrace was covered with furniture waiting to be cleaned.
Chrissy, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.
Heather left the shopping bag on one of the chairs and jumped off the terrace onto the sand.
She had a genuine excuse to go for a walk without feeling guilty about it—she had to look for Chrissy.
Heather waded through the sand, heading towards the bay she could see from her bedroom window last night. She thought she'd seen a clothing line somewhere between the trees, maybe that was where Chrissy had gone.
A loud meow followed by an even louder bark, ripped through the gentle morning breeze.
The cat again?
Heather looked around.
And a dog.
"Axel, come here," a low strong male voice called out. "Leave that cat alone."
Heather headed towards the voice. After a few yards, she spotted a tall, broad-shoulder man calming a large dog under a tree.
The same tree Gordon had climbed last night. Poor kitty. It must have been his favorite hiding place.
"Hello, is it safe to come up?" she called out.
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"Just asking, because of the dog," Heather replied. "Is the cat in the tree again?"
"I suppose so," the man replied.
She was close enough now to see his face: strong jaw, regular features and a pair of eyes that were piercing though her skull now. The salt-and-pepper, curly short hair and a beard added a trust-invoking touch of maturity.
"Is the cat yours?" the man asked, attaching a leash on the dog's collar.
He had a pleasant voice. Genuine-sounding.
"No. It's feral, I think. But he's been hanging around the place a lot lately. I wonder if I should take him in."
"I think you might consider it, if you're planning to stick around for a while," he added, giving her a curious look.
He might have been one of the less informed locals, Heather decided. Even Marty in the shop knew she was the new café owner.
Information travelled with the speed of light in small towns.
But maybe, this good-looking guy lived a little out of town. And maybe even without cell network coverage.
"I'm here for good," Heather said and smiled. "Heather Hampton. I'm the new owner." She pointed over her shoulder, at the café.
"Ah, I think I might have heard some gossip about the café changing hands, but I didn’t really pay much attention to it. I live a little out of the way..." He paused and made a vague gesture from his left to his right. Heather wondered if he meant that he moved often to stay out of the way. Or maybe he wasn't sure where his home was in relation to their current position.
The latter seemed less likely as, in Heather's experience, a good sense of direction seemed to correlate directly with the amount of testosterone in a person's system.
She stretched out her hand.
"James Matthews, I'm a ... sort of local, I suppose," he said, shaking her hand, with just the right mix of strength and gentleness.
"A sort of a local ... A seasonal local?"
James smiled. A network of tiny wrinkles appeared around his brown eyes.
"No, rather a local who has returned home after being away for many years."
"I see. I detect a less than subtle hint of a British accent in your voice," she said.
"Yeah, I lived in Leeds for twenty five years and now ... returned to the roots."
"I'm from Long Island," she paused, remembering the unfortunate eponymous drink from last night. "That's New York," she added quickly.
James' eyes narrowed. He was still watching her intently. Heather shifted from foot to foot.
"So how long have you been back?"
"A couple of months here, but a little longer in New Zealand. I've done a little tiki tour of all the family members down south," he explained.
"A tiki tour?"
"A tour with many stops," he explained. "It's a Kiwi expression. I've picked up a lot of local vocab again, even though it's been only a few months. And how are you finding our little town?"
"I've barely seen it to be honest. But the people seem friendly."
She needed to follow her mom's advice and not assume she could trust every apparently nice person she met. Even if they looked really friendly and trustworthy.
"How long have you been here?"
Heather checked her watch
"Not even a 24 hours, and I'm already..." she paused, faking a cough.
His brown eyes glistened.
"Already what?" he asked.
"I've already met a lot of really nice people," she replied, ignoring the tingling in her nose.
Last thing she wanted to do was to touch her nose, even if it wasn't to check to see how long it had grown.
"I hope you find the town welcoming and you'll feel at home soon. Sorry, but we've got to go, Axel," he pulled the leash and the large German Shepard stood and came to heel. "Have a good day, Heather," he bowed lightly and walked away, heading towards the bay.
Something in his eyes made her feel uncomfortable lying. She needed to keep better track of what she said, and to whom.
So far, living in Dolphin Cove was like being in her old job headquarters again–treading carefully through a minefield of personalities and relationships, trying to avoid setting off the various bombs and mines planted to kill the enemy.
And she thought she'd left that world behind.
6
The cat meowed again.
"Come down, little fella," Heather called the animal. "The dog is gone." She stretched her arms, making, what she hoped, were encouraging gestures.
The cat crawled down and even let her stroke his silky, black fur. But he was strongly opposed being carried or cuddled.
"Before taking you in, I'd need to take you to the vet first," Heather said. "Are you hungry?"
The cat just stared at her.
"I'll take it as a yes," she said. "Let's go find you some food."
She walked towards the café and the cat followed.
"You're back," Chrissy observed, standing in the doorway. "Have you got everything?"
"Yes, the bags are over there." Heather pointed to where she had left them. "Do you need any help?"
"No, I'll be fine for now. I see you've found the kitty." Chrissy's face brightened. "Josephine feeds her from time to time."
"Is it a girl? I thought she'd
refer to the cat as a boy."
Chrissy laughed. "Actually, you're right. It is a boy. Josephine keeps a box of cat food in the pantry, on the bottom shelf. You'll find the bowls there, too."
"Thanks," Heather replied and headed for the kitchen. The cat wandered into the café as well.
"So, what are you planning to do with the café?" Chrissy asked, while Heather was preparing the cat's food.
Heather filled a bowl with fresh water and put it on the floor.
"Not totally sure yet," she replied carefully.
"But you should be." There was a note of reproach in Chrissy's voice. "You should have a strategy."
"I do, but I'm not sure if it'll fit."
"Fit what?"
"The café, the town, the beach..."
"Like what?"
Heather reached for a second bowl and opened a pouch of cat food. Chrissy's brown eyes were studying her every move.
"I've done a drink mixing course, so, obviously, I've been thinking about serving some fancy cocktails."
Chrissy folded her arms across her chest. "But the café doesn't have an alcohol license."
Heather let out a sigh. "I know. Josephine's told me."
"What did she think about the possibility of getting a license?"
Heather lowered her face, pretending to be inspecting the inside of the bowl before putting it on the floor.
The silence tensed.
"I think it may be a good idea," Chrissy continued. "You should try."
Heather felt her cheeks blush. "I'm not sure Josephine would be entirely on board with the idea," she replied, still not looking at Chrissy.
"But you're the owner, aren't you?" Chrissy said. "She's just a chef. A very good one, but she’s still only an employee. And she's in hospital now."
Chrissy's words echoed through the kitchen. Heather turned away to wash her hands and hide the stubborn blush. If she was to be perfectly frank with herself, she'd have to admit, the thought had crossed her mind.
Of course, she wasn't happy that Josephine was in coma, in hospital, but Chrissy did have a point.
"I think I'd rather wait until Josephine is back," Heather replied hesitantly. "I don't even know how to go about applying for a license."
"It's all online," Chrissy replied. "By the way, Maree and Josephine considered setting up an on-license in the past. I'm not sure why, but the idea fell by the wayside. I think it might have been shortly before Maree's death. They were considering strategies to boost the café's attractiveness."
