by Clare Kauter
From the kitchen I retrieved the cordless landline and moved upstairs to the study where the family computer was located. I logged onto Facebook to check my updates and take a couple of quizzes (hey, as if you wouldn’t want to know if you’re a ninja or a pirate). I had dialled C’s number and was just about to press ‘Call’ when the computer binged. I had a message. In my inbox there was one new message from Jo Riley.
Jo:
have you heard the news
Jo:
I cannot believe this is happening
Jo:
how could she do this
I frowned and put the phone down. Celia could wait. This drama sounded juicy.
Charlie:
You know I hate it when you leave out all the question marks and capital letters.
Sure, I was curious, but I couldn’t let her know that or things would get even more melodramatic.
Jo:
I would have thought you’d be just as angry as me
Jo:
did she even tell you she was interested
Charlie:
My point about the capital letters and punctuation stands.
Charlie:
What’s up? Who? What did they do?
Jo:
CELIA!!!!!
Charlie:
OK, you don’t need that many capitals or punctuation marks. There’s no need to get testy.
Charlie:
What did she do?
Jo:
its more a matter of who
Charlie:
*It’s
Yeah, OK, so I’m one of those people. Whatever. There is a reason there are two different spellings. THEY MEAN DIFFERENT THINGS.
Charlie:
Who did she do what with?
Jo:
James McKenzie
Trust that to be the one thing she capitalized properly.
Charlie:
Gonna need some more details, Jo.
Jo:
they hooked up at that party last night
Jo:
now they’re dating
At that point I actually laughed aloud. Yeah, right. Celia wasn’t interested in James McKenzie. My laughter came to an abrupt stop as I realised I was getting a first-hand look at how Jo would react if she found out that I’d kissed James. Suddenly I felt a little sick.
Charlie:
I’m sure it’s just a rumour. She’s not into him at all.
Jo:
I thought that too, but look at her facebook page
I frowned and clicked through to Celia’s profile.
Charlie:
What am I looking for exactly?
Jo:
youll know when you see it
I sighed and scanned the page for the incriminating evidence. When I found it, I stopped dead. She wasn’t exaggerating – this was a scandal. James and Celia were in a relationship, and it was Facebook Official. My stomach churned. I shut the window without saying goodbye to Jo. The phone was still in my hand, Celia’s mobile number typed in, ready to dial.
I hit call.
“Charlie!” she said when she answered. “Thank god it’s you. I need to talk to you. Jo just put a dead rat in an envelope and pushed it under my front door!”
Ordinarily I would have been disgusted by that, but I was too numb to feel anything.
“Is it true?” I asked.
“About me and James? Well, yeah, but I have to explain –”
I hung up.
That prick. That complete and total piece of shit. What the hell? Who does that? Who fake-kisses a girl for money and then gives her the money and makes her all confused and then GETS WITH HER BEST FRIEND ON THE SAME NIGHT?
Well, we know who.
I wasn’t going to just let him get away with it.
Seeing red, I limped downstairs as fast as I could.
Nineteen
I read the article. Arson, it said. A body found inside, charred beyond recognition. What they could tell, though, was that the victim was female, and she’d been alive when the fire had started. A wave of nausea hit me. What did this have to do with my brother? Did Harcourt suspect him of something? Is that why Topher had run away?
No, that was ridiculous. If Topher was a suspect, who was driving the car that tried to kill him? Topher hadn’t done anything wrong. I was sure of that much. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. (Other than, you know, getting it high via passive smoking.)
He must have seen something.
Harcourt knew that. That’s why he’d come looking for Topher at the school. That was why he’d made up the ‘internship’ and questioned me – to see if I knew anything. That was what this was all about.
Topher must have run away because he was scared of being killed by the culprit, and with fair reason. But the million-dollar question in all this wasn’t what had happened to Topher – he was OK. He was just hiding.
The real question was whether Harcourt was trying to find out who had burnt down the building, or whether he’d had something to do with it.
Twenty
James McKenzie was watching me from his uncle’s window as I hobbled towards his car on my crutches, crowbar in hand. (It was awkward to carry everything at once, but when I was angry I could do just about anything.) I stopped when I reached the bonnet of the car, balancing all my weight on my good leg as I threw the crutches away. I twisted, looking up at James McKenzie, and gave him the middle finger. Up yours.
Turning back to the car, I twirled the crowbar in my hand before raising it above my head and bringing it down with as much force as I could muster. The bar connected with the metal hood of the car, leaving an impressive dent in its wake. Elated by the destruction I was causing (say what you will, I find violent acts to be very therapeutic), I took another swing. And another. After that I kind of blacked out.
The next thing I knew, I was staring at a mangled pile of metal and smashed glass. Oh my god, had I done that? Who knew I had that much upper body strength? I was admiring my handiwork when I heard a voice from behind me.
“Charlie…”
I whipped around. There stood James McKenzie.
“You –” I began, but he cut me off.
“Charlie, you don’t understand. It wasn’t –”
“What happened?” I asked. “You decided your friends weren’t good enough so you decided to take mine?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“Just when I’d started to think you might have some redeeming qualities. How wrong I was.”
He eyed the bar in my hands. “You going to attack me?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be stupid. I don’t want to kill you.”
“Well sorry. After the baseball bat and the hockey stick –”
“The bat was an accident, and I didn’t even hit you with that hockey stick. They held me back before I got to you. Besides, I was only going to tap you on the shins. It wouldn’t have done any permanent damage.”
“Well, that’s comforting.” He picked my crutches up off the ground and brought them over to me. “Charlie…”
I snatched them out of his hand. “Stay away from me,” I said. “And tell Celia to do the same. Have fun being shitty friends together.”
With that, I hobbled off.
When I arrived home, no one was there. Lucky, really. I didn’t know how I’d explain the wrecking bar under my arm. Oh, this? Just a spot of light criminal damages. Don’t mind me. No, don’t panic. He’s still alive. I returned the bar to the garage and walked back inside. It was too early in the day for the pub, so Dad was probably at work. Mum would be over at Violet McKenzie’s, plotting and scheming as usual. Topher I wasn’t sure about.
I walked up to his room. He still wasn’t back, and he wasn’t around at Frank’s place apologising to James like I’d thought he’d be. Where was he? I retrieved the phone from the computer room down the hall where I’d left it earlier and dialled his mobile number.
A woman’s voice answered.
“I’m s
orry. The number you have dialled is not connected. Please check the number and try again.”
I checked the number and tried again.
“I’m sorry. The number –”
I hung up. What the hell? I walked back into Topher’s room and looked on his bedside table. His wallet was gone. I looked in the bottom drawer of his desk, removing the false bottom. This was where he hid his weed stash and his fake ID. It was all gone. I wasn’t surprised – he’d been getting through it pretty quickly last night, and I’d assumed he’d gone out somewhere for pre-drinks with Will, so it made sense that he’d have his ID with him.
I dialled Will’s mobile number. He picked up on the third ring.
“Oh, man. I’m so glad you called. I thought maybe after last night you –”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” I said. “Have you –”
“Wait, Charlie?”
“Yeah, of course. Who else would it be?”
He hesitated for a second. “Well, it was just that I tried to call Topher, but his phone –”
“So you haven’t heard from him either?” Shit. What did this mean?
“No, not since last night.” Will sounded worried.
“When did you last see him?” I asked.
He paused. “Last night. Like I said.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Um, no.”
I couldn’t help but think that Will was being a bit cagey.
“What?” I demanded.
“W-we were hanging out for a bit, and then he left,” said Will. “He just…”
“And you haven’t seen him since?” I asked.
“No.”
After promising Will I’d let him know if I found anything, I hung up and walked back into my bedroom. I plonked myself down on the bed, defeated. As I lay back, I heard something rustle. I felt around under my pillow and found a note. I sat bolt upright. It was from Topher.
Charlie, I’m sorry to leave without saying goodbye, but I’ve gotta go. Be safe.
Don’t tell the cops anything. I’ll be back to explain later. It might not be for a while but I promise I’ll fix it.
I tore the bottom half of the note off and hid it in a copy of Jane Austen’s ‘Persuasion’ – no one was going to be opening that in a hurry.
Shit, Topher. What did you get yourself into?
~ The End ~
The story continues in
The Charlie Davies Mysteries
Here’s a little bit to try…
Losing Your Head
(The Charlie Davies Mysteries Book 1)
Why is it that every time you do something you hope no one will notice, you get found out? I once read that the probability of someone watching you is directly proportional to the stupidity of the action. I know this is true, because I screw up a lot and I have never, not once, gotten away with it. It has been that way since the day I was born (when I did a poo during my first ever bath, which my father kindly documented on film so that he may bring it out at dinner parties forevermore), and it will probably be that way until the day I die (likely of a heart attack while I’m having a bath in which I’ve once again done a poo). I know I can’t be the only person who gets embarrassed, but I seem to receive more than my fair share of public humiliation.
Just look at my time in high school. I did a lot of stupid things in the space of those six years. All were noticed. All were highly embarrassing. As early as my first school assembly the rest of the school learned my propensity for, as I like to call it, “bad luck” (others call it “stupidity” or “being bad at life”), when I was called upon to receive an award. The laughter started the second I stood up and began walking towards the stage. I ploughed on regardless, hoping against hope that there was some event entirely unrelated to me that was causing this hysteria. I made it up to the stage, peals of laughter ringing throughout the hall, and accepted the certificate. That was when the man presenting the award leaned forward and whispered, “Your skirt’s tucked in at the back.”
Right, I know what you’re thinking. OK, that’s mildly embarrassing, sure. It’s hardly next-level though. To be honest, I was expecting a little more.
Well, my friend, you will not be disappointed.
Realising that my bottom was on show to the entire school, I whipped around, trying to hide it. Unfortunately, however, my feet had become tangled in the microphone cord and I tripped right into the man presenting the award – also known as the school principal. We both flailed awkwardly for a time, but it was in vain – down we went, right over the edge of stage left, taking out a few members of the school band on our way down. Luckily, I came out relatively uninjured. The teacher I had landed on top of – one leg either side, straddling him – was less lucky. He tried to hold back the tears, but I saw them glistening in the corners of his eyes. He kind of took the brunt of the fall.
He transferred schools not long after.
From then on the other kids at school were always quick to ask whether my ‘boyfriend’ would be giving me another award at the next ‘arsembly’. I don’t even remember what the award was for. I just remember that I made sure I was at the bottom of the class in every subject for the rest of that year, out of fear that I may one day be called upon to receive another one of those dreaded certificates.
Even after I’d finished Year 12, if I bumped into someone down the street that knew me from Gerongate High (teachers included), I’d still get that same line. Honestly, it was getting a bit old. I mean, c’mon, I’d finished school two years ago. Why the hell would I be at arsembly?
There are many other occasions where I have found myself as the centre of attention through less-than-comfortable circumstances. Take my last job interview.
Things got off to a bad start for me when I was walking into the interview room and realised – would you believe – my skirt was tucked into my undies at the back, revealing them to the world. OH YES. AGAIN. Whilst I was attempting to untangle the clothing that was (or, rather, wasn’t) covering my backside, I was also trying to remain balanced in my brand-new stilettos. I had worn them in the hope of making a good first impression, although I hadn’t quite learned to walk in them yet. I was nearly to the chair when, wouldn’t you know it, one of the heels clean snapped off my shoe. I fell face first and whacked my head on the table on the way down. I hadn’t shut the door on my way in, so everyone got to admire me as I lay face down on the floor, unconscious, with my hand still resting on my arse, outlining my failed attempt to pick my skirt out of my crack.
And as though that wasn’t bad enough, the only pair of clean undies I could find that morning had been a G-string. Oh, no. I’m not joking.
The people at the office dialled 000, and were advised to leave the injured exactly as she was until the professionals got there, to prevent them from causing any further damage.
As I side note, I feel I should tell you that not all of my humiliations involve bums and/or poo. Just most of them.
For the record, I didn’t get the job. Not that I wanted it after what happened. Things would have been kind of awkward around the office, and I probably would have been a major Occupational Health And Safety risk. OK, I definitely would have been a risk. All in all, I wasn’t too surprised about not getting it. But I haven’t bought shoes from Payless since.
Like I said, you can’t screw up and expect not to be noticed. It just doesn’t work that way. Even if you think no one sees at the time, sooner or later things are going to start to unravel and everyone is going to find out what you’ve done. That is life and, like it or not, that’s just how things go.
Sometimes it can be a good thing. Like when someone commits a crime. A murder, for instance. Obviously, it’s not great news for the person who did it, but someone’s bound to see something. There will be some evidence, some hint, no matter how hard you try to hide it. Of course, somebody has got to figure out what those clues mean, and that doesn’t always happen. Which is how people get away with things.
That’
s what I’ve learned about crime. At least, that is what I learned from my first case. (Did I just say ‘my first case’? Cringe. It sounds like a Fisher Price toy.) It isn’t like I’m a professional or anything. I really only did it to prove that I could and I’ll admit that I made a few mistakes, but, hey, how else are you supposed to learn? So, anyway, my first “case” – the murder of old Frank McKenzie.
* * *
Gerongate wasn’t an exceptionally large place. I mean, it was a city, but with only 300 000 people, well, it wasn’t exactly New York. Even by Australian standards, it was fairly small. It was big enough, though, that you could never know everyone like you could in a country town. You’d get people who seemed to know everyone, but that was just because they always did the same thing and never saw anyone new. I guess I noticed this during the time I spent working at Gregory’s Groceries (George Street, Gerongate – just so you can avoid it).
Every customer had a regular shopping day and time, so by the end of the first month I knew everyone’s name. Two months and I knew all about everyone’s immediate family. Three and I could name everyone in their extended family as well. Four months and they started to let me in on the latest gossip. Five months and my job really pissed me off.
On the rare occasion that we got a new customer, it was normally just one of the regulars’ kids who’d grown up and left home. That was fine, but if someone entirely new came in – watch out. The amount of foul looks they received was enough to ensure that they would never return. The way people reacted to newcomers, you’d think that they were criminals. Then again, in the parts of Gerongate that I’d been in, change pretty much was a crime.
