Audrey now had two troublemakers on hand. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. “Matt, glad you could make it. I have Greta’s belongings all ready for you. Please stay and have a drink with us. It has been a long day and you must be tired. Grab a seat at the table on the front lawn. Wine or beer? What would you like?”
“A beer would be great,” he said as he walked with her sisters to the picnic tables.
Piper followed her aunty inside. “Let me help you Aunty Audrey.”
“Thanks Piper. Can you carry out the sandwiches and a couple bottles of wine? I will bring out the beer and glasses.”
Audrey handed a beer to Matt while her sisters opened the wine. The sun was still high in the sky. Simone’s husband, John, raised the umbrellas. Piper passed around the food. A happy family gathering, one would think. Audrey knew otherwise.
This family had serious problems. Problems that should have been resolved with Ben and Greta’s deaths. Damn, Greta – now you have involved your nephew and I will have to take care of it.
Audrey watched her sisters with envy. They all seemed so sure of who they were. Even Honey, the eccentric one, had a firm grip on her reality. She was making a play for Matt. Give Honey a whiff of testosterone and she is divinely happy.
Honey smiled at her. “Audrey, why doesn’t Matt stay here tonight? “
“He is most welcome,” Audrey turned at the sound of another car crunching down the gravel driveway. It was Uncle Steve. Tonight she would need to find out just how much these two men knew. She knew her Uncle Steve was an easy mark. He would spout his head off after a bottle of whisky, and whisky she had aplenty. He would be too drunk to drive home.
She walked over to greet him. “Uncle Steve, you made it. Come join us. “
C H A P T E R 1 5
He looked at the time. It was six o’clock. He had been at his computer for hours. Why the hell hadn’t he done the search before the bodies were buried? There it was, in black and white, a newspaper article from thirty years ago.
A photo of Mr. and Mrs. Brown featured prominently on the front page of The Christchurch Star. They looked like a nice, ordinary couple. Mrs. Brown was wearing a twin set and pearls. The article read:
A brother and sister are now classified as ‘persons of interest’ regarding their parents’ sudden deaths.
Christchurch lay preacher and truck driver, Murray Brown and his wife, Sophie, were found dead at their Northcote home on Saturday night. Mr. Brown had suffered multiple stab wounds and his wife’s death was a result of strangulation.
“We have no suspects at this time,” said Detective Constable Williams, the lead detective on the case. “We are questioning all members of the family and anyone who had contact with the Browns prior to their death.”
When asked about the brother and his sister being questioned for many hours yesterday, the detective stated, “As already mentioned, we are questioning all members of the family. Two members of the family are helping us with our enquiries, but no arrests have been made at this time”
Higgins went on to read article after article until he had exhausted every piece of public evidence relating to the case. What interested him the most was the fact it was an unsolved case. No one had been bought to justice. It was not thought to have been a robbery. There was no forced entry into the home. Multiple stabbings and strangulation indicated a crime of passion. Personal even.
The children’s names were suppressed due to their age. He needed to get hold of all the files in cold storage. He picked up the phone and ordered the files be sent to his Whangarei office first thing in the morning. The son must have been Ben, but which sister was the suspect?
This morning he had returned the letter to the old lady’s nephew at the motel. He had caught him as he was checking out. “Decided to stay further up North. I am picking up my aunt’s belongings from Audrey’s place in Hihi.” Matt Walters stuffed the letter in his pocket.
Higgins wondered if Walters and Paul Brown were still at Audrey’s. He checked the time. Damn. It was a two-hour drive to Hihi. They would be well gone before he could get there. He left a message for Matt suggesting they meet tomorrow morning.
C H A P T E R 1 6
Matt looked at the women around him. All so different. Honey was a load of fun. He had agreed to spend the night. He really didn’t have anywhere else to be and Tiromoana was just what he needed. Some peace and quiet surrounded by native bush and open sea.
Life had taken many unexpected turns. His careers were as diverse as his interests. An engineer, a professor of mathematics and, until a few months ago, he had traveled Europe as a photographer. Even had some photos published in National Geographic. Honey said she wanted to see some of his work and was viewing it on his laptop with squeals of appreciation.
“Audrey, is it possible for me to collect my aunt’s belongings?” he turned to face his hostess as she joined them on the lawn.
“I have already put them in the Kiwi Cabin for you,” she said as she handed him the keys. “You can park your car by the cabin. It’s the second one on the ridge.”
“Great. If you don’t mind, I have a couple of calls to make.”
The detective had been calling him but he had ignored his calls until now. As soon as he had settled into the cabin he returned the call. “Detective, Matt Walters here, you have been trying to reach me? Oh, I see. Yes, I am at Audrey’s now. I am staying in one of her cabins tonight … yes, he is here too. Audrey was kind enough to accommodate us both. Tomorrow at eleven? I’ll tell him. See you then.”
I wonder what has stirred his interest, thought Matt. He opened the first box and started to sort through his aunt’s keepsakes. Sad, it was. Just a few boxes of cheap jewelry, a few books, worn-out shoes and at least a dozen handbags. He removed a small heart-shaped pendant on a silver chain and a threadbare bible and lay them on the coffee table. The other boxes contained mostly clothes – old lady clothes. He would stop by a Salvation Army store on his way back to Auckland tomorrow and donate everything.
He heard a knock. Expecting the buxom Honey, he closed the last box and headed for the door. Audrey asked, “Can I come in for a moment?”
“Yes, by all means.” Matt was surprised at the intrusion. She had been cold and politely distant since they had met. He didn’t like the woman. So different from her sisters. He wondered what she could possibly want.
“Just checking everything is OK. I put a bottle of wine in your fridge. Please help yourself. We are having dinner at seven.” Audrey appeared preoccupied with the boxes on the floor.
“Everything is great. Thank you. Do you know where the nearest Salvation Army store is? I would like to donate my aunt’s clothes. I can drop them off when I leave tomorrow.
“There is a donation depot just down the road in Mangonui. You can’t miss it. There is a sign as you take the exit. So you are heading back to Auckland tomorrow?”
“That is the plan. Do you know where your uncle is? Detective Higgins called and wishes to meet with us both tomorrow at eleven.” Did he imagine it or did Audrey flinch at the information?
Audrey smiled her perfect smile. “I will tell him. Are you meeting him here?” He nodded. “I will see you at dinner then – just a casual dinner on the lawn. It’s such a beautiful night.”
He watched through the cabin window as she walked to the cabin on the far side of the ridge. How did she know he lived in Auckland? He had never mentioned it. He noticed she was carrying a bottle of whisky. He watched as her uncle opened the door and she disappeared inside. “She’s a strange one, that woman,” he muttered to himself as he lay a clean pair of jeans and a button-down shirt on the bed and turned on the shower. Maybe Honey and he could hang out after dinner. He liked that woman. She was a little on the plump side, and he liked that.
C H A P T E R 1 7
Becka was worried. Audrey had just joined her in the kitchen with the news the detective was coming there tomorrow to talk to Matt and Uncle Steve. “What can he
possibly want to talk to them about? After all, Ben was deathly ill and died naturally. Greta was just old and tired. Surely he doesn’t suspect anyone?” Then her face froze. “You don’t suppose they suspect Ben of killing the old lady before he died?”
“Don’t be silly, Becka. Ben was too weak to even move at the end. There is no way he could have committed murder,” Audrey soothed her sister’s fears.
“He’s done it before.” She muttered silently.
“What did you say?” Audrey dropped two live crayfish into a large pot of boiling water. She listened for the scream. She knew the sound was only from gasses being released from under the lobster tail but she listened for it anyway. “He’s done what before?”
“Nothing.” Becka wiped her hands on the tea towel hanging on the oven door. “I just don’t want him to start bringing up things from the past.”
“Don’t you worry, Becka. That is long forgotten. Anyway, what could Ben’s death have to do with our parents’ death? They never proved he had anything to do with it. They said he was home at the time but we know he was at work when it happened. He was doing deliveries. Remember? Anyway, We were all teenagers then. You were only seventeen. I was fifteen. Poor Honey was only twelve. “
“Has Simone talked about it?” Becka wanted to know.
“No, she changes the subject every time I try to mention it. She had already left home for teachers college when it happened. She lives in constant denial of the whole thing. She acts as though Mum and Dad are still alive and enjoying their retirement somewhere. You know Simone; life is one big happy family.”
“Do you think Honey knows anything?” Becka finished tossing the salad and removed the bread rolls from the oven.
“I don’t think so. Why would she? She was playing with friends in the park across the street and has always insisted she didn’t hear or see anything.”
“What about you, Audrey? You have never told the police where you were that night. Why wouldn’t you say?“
Audrey removed the bright orange crayfish from the pot with large tongs and placed them on a vibrant fish-shaped platter. “It was none of their business. The police were shits at the time – accusing us of murdering our parents. They had no proof. I’m glad you could avoid all the horrible accusations and constant allegations. Going to London was the best thing you could have done.”
“But I left it all to you to handle, Audrey. I shouldn’t have done that,” Becka confessed.
“It’s OK, Becka. It was thirty years ago. We have all got on with our lives. You have two beautiful grown sons and have a good life over there. I am sure Ben would not have wanted us to delve into the past.“ She handed Becka a glass of wine. “Drink up. Let’s spend a nice evening together.”
They gathered up the food and carried it across the lawn to the waiting guests. Honey was already sitting next to Matt, totally absorbed in conversation. Simone, John and Piper were playing cricket on the lawn. “Dinner’s served,” called Audrey as she placed the crayfish on the table. “Piper, be a dear and grab the serviettes and cutlery from the kitchen. Oh, and bring another bottle of wine.”
“Will do,” obliged Piper. “Where is Uncle Steve? Isn’t he joining us?
“I’ll go and check on him,” Simone offered graciously. “He has most likely passed out. He drank a lot of wine this afternoon.”
Audrey watched her walk toward the Tui Cabin. She set a place for him at the table. Her conversation with her uncle had not gone well earlier. He told her Ben had confessed to killing her mother. A “deathbed confession”, he had called it. The drunk old man went on and on and on about how Ben had hated his parents. And how Ben had said he had not killed his father. Said it was one of his sisters. He accused Audrey.
Audrey couldn’t take it any longer. She was prepared for what she needed to do. Just the right amount of GHB in his bottle of whisky would do the trick. He was an old man. Shame he had to die in one of her cabins, but it couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t risk him talking to the detective tomorrow. She really had no choice.
She waited until the old man couldn’t hold his glass. She took it from him, wiped off her fingerprints and placed it on the table. It was almost as though he knew. With his last drunken breath he said, “Ya know, it wasn’t ya dad that killed that young girl. It was I.” Audrey left the cabin reveling in deserved retribution.
“I can’t wake him,” said Simone, running across the lawn toward them. “He is hardly breathing. We need to call 111.”
“I’ll do it,” said John. He looked at the screen then immediately handed his phone to Audrey. “You do it. You can give them directions.”
It took over half an hour for the ambulance to arrive. They put Uncle Steve on a stretcher and headed off into the night, sirens blaring and lights flashing.
Matt Walters watched the commotion in silence. He wondered why no one had accompanied their uncle to the hospital. He guessed Uncle Steve was not a family favorite. They returned to the dinner table and Audrey served a homemade apple sponge with runny cream. As the night wore on and the wine flowed, everyone began to relax. At midnight Audrey’s phone rang. It was the hospital. Uncle Steve was dead. Died of a heart attack, they said.
Audrey sighed as she lifted her glass. “To Uncle Steve, may he rest in peace.”
“To Uncle Steve,” they toasted in unison.
C H A P T E R 1 8
It was almost nine o’clock when Matt stirred. He turned to face the pretty woman by his side. He really liked her. She was fun and sexy at the same time. He didn’t feel like returning to Auckland. He would much rather take Honey on a road trip. He texted the detective. “Sorry can’t make our meeting today, something has come up.” He chuckled.
“Good morning, handsome,” Honey stretched like a cat waking from a dreamless sleep. “Wanna play today?”
“Thought we would take a trip up north to Cape Reinga. You up for it?”
“I thought you said you had a meeting?”
“Just cancelled it. We can grab an early lunch on the way.” His phone beeped. It was a message from the detective. “Please meet today. I have new information re your aunt’s death”
He responded, “Let’s meet tomorrow,” turned off his phone and joined Honey in the shower. Whatever the detective had to say could wait. His aunt had been an old lady with a weak heart. A God-fearing spinster. She’d died of natural causes. What could the detective possibly have to add to that?
God, Honey has a great body, he thought as he soaped her voluptuous breasts with Eco soap. It was going to be a wonderful day.
C H A P T E R 1 9
Detective Constable Higgins had woken to the news of Steve Brown’s death. He had been up all night creating a crime wall in his office. Each Brown family member prominently positioned, in chronological order.
Murray & Sophie Brown – murdered when in their 40s. (Unsolved cold case)
Ben Brown – single – oldest child, only son – 20 at time of parents’ death (Died of natural causes at 52)
Simone Mayflower – oldest daughter – 19 at time of parents’ death
Becka Simpson – divorced? – Second-oldest daughter – 17 at time of parents’ death
Audrey Wetherby – divorced – third-oldest daughter – 15 at time of parents’ death
Honey Brown – single – youngest daughter – 12 at time of parents’ death
Steve Brown – brother of Murray Brown – 73 at time of death (died of natural causes?)
Greta Baywater – Ben Brown’s housekeeper and caretaker – 72 at time of death – (died of natural causes?)
Two deaths thirty years ago, and now three deaths in one week. All related to the one family. Ben Brown’s death was the result of advanced brain cancer. Steve Brown and Greta Baywater both documented as having died of natural causes – or had they? Both died when Audrey Wetherby was in close proximity. Both held the answers to an unsolved crime. A crime in which Ms. Wetherby may well have been a suspect.
Scrutiny of Aud
rey Wetherby was very revealing. Murders hovered around her like flies around a hot woolly sheep, yet she had only ever been a person of interest. Her parents’ death was brutal and unexplained. A nice respectable couple with religious morals and no apparent enemies. Ben, the oldest son was the prime suspect but was never convicted. Was Audrey also a suspect? She had no confirmed alibi, but there was no concrete evidence. It was all circumstantial.
Higgins knew Steve Brown had had a conversation with Ben before he died. Did Ben make a confession? A confession that had gotten the old man murdered? Did Greta, the caregiver, also find out the truth? Was she, too, murdered to stop her talking?
Who stood to gain from their deaths? It had to be Audrey Wetherby. She was certainly quick to put the old lady in the ground. Took full charge of the funeral arrangements. He guessed she would have had her cremated if Greta’s church had not insisted she be buried.
He knew he had to talk to Greta’s nephew, Matt. Maybe there was a diary or notebook in which she’d kept her secrets. When he called the coroner for an autopsy report, he was told no autopsy had taken place as her death was due to natural causes – her heart had simply given up. The detective wished he had had a toxicology report done before she was put in the ground. He would need some sort of proof she’d been murdered before he would get permission to dig her up. Damn!!
His phone rang. “Yes, I am familiar with Greta Baywater’s death. I see. She was a psychic, you say? You had readings with her often. She foresaw her own death? I understand. Thank you. I will let you know if I need further information.” Crazy woman!
He noticed he had a message. It was from Matt
Walters, saying he couldn’t make the meeting today. Damn! He really needed to meet with him.
Murder In The Family Page 3
