by Jennie Jones
‘Dan!’
Shit. Dan pushed off the chair and walked to his bedroom door. He’d forgotten Josh had a key to the front doors of the bar.
‘Dan!’
‘Coming.’ He pulled his bedroom door open and faced Josh. ‘What are you doing here this early?’
‘Came into town to pick up more of Grace’s pickles for the craft centre.’
‘Right.’ The craft centre Ethan and Sammy had started housed any number of things that showcased the skills in town. Home produce, quilting and sewing stuff, woodwork, like the rocking chairs Red had bought for her veranda. Some of Sammy’s local landscape artwork. Even bricklayers and rope makers got a look in. ‘So what are you doing in the bar?’
‘You better get into the back alley quick.’
Dan’s heartbeat skipped a deadly beat. Had something happened to Charlotte? ‘Why?’
‘What have you been doing?’ Josh asked with a frown. ‘Can’t you hear it?’
‘What?’
‘The truck, Dan.’ Josh raised his voice as though talking to someone who didn’t speak English. ‘There’s a truck in the back alley dropping off seven shower units.’
‘How about tomorrow morning? Ten o’clock?’
‘Let me consult my social calendar.’
Julia laughed down the phone and Charlotte smiled into the mouthpiece. ‘I’m not in the market for a new me, though,’ she warned.
‘Oh, come one,’ Julia said in exasperation. ‘Let’s play.’
‘And I’m not getting my hair cut.’ She put her fingers through the ends of her hair. ‘Maybe a wash and blow dry—and I think I need a treatment.’
‘Great, I have this spectacular brand of products I’ve been dying to try out and if you think the ends of your hair are dry, you probably need a trim.’
Charlotte sighed. ‘A quarter of an inch.’
‘How are your nails? What about a French manicure?’
Charlotte wiggled her fingers. How long would polish last with all the renovations she planned? ‘Maybe just a manicure.’
‘With polish.’
Charlotte gave in. ‘A light polish, pale pink or something.’ Oh, bugger, there she went again—going for pink.
‘Red.’
‘Yes?’ Charlotte answered.
Julia laughed. ‘I meant red nail polish. What did you think I meant?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ Red was the name Daniel had given her. When had she started to think of it as a plausible, endearing nickname and not offensive? ‘Red?’ she asked, as the notion of what Julia was suggesting sank in. ‘Bright red? Like my front door?’
‘What other kind of red is there? I’ve got the perfect lipstick match too. This is going to be fun.’
Charlotte was tempted. The thought of refreshing herself appealed. A little time out. Nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that she had a man—or rather she’d had a man, about an hour ago—but a bit of pampering wouldn’t go amiss for either reason.
‘Do me a favour, would you, Charlotte? Wear something that isn’t white or beige.’
That would be tricky. She had the rose-pink skirt but it was in the wash.
‘Just because you’re in the country doesn’t mean you have to turn into Anne of Green Gables,’ Julia continued. ‘Although don’t get me wrong, ivory suits you. In fact ivory is you. You need to make sure your wedding dress is ivory, not white.’
‘I haven’t got to your salon yet, and already you’ve married me off?’
Julia laughed. ‘I could arrange something. Although there’s only one available guy in town who would suit you.’
‘No, thanks.’ Charlotte had already had the only available man in town and as it turned out, he’d suited her fine. But not for marriage, so she needed to put Julia off the scent. ‘I’ve got an indigo-blue dress.’
‘Have you got shoes the same colour?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Great. Bring that gear tomorrow so I can check it out. Now I’ve got to go, need to call this guy I know in Canberra about being a donor.’
Julia hung up before Charlotte had time to form a polite enquiry about what kind of donor.
Charlotte paused when the doorbell pealed, a beige dress in her hand. It was only gone midday—that wouldn’t be Daniel, would it? She dropped the dress on top of a pile of clothing on the bed, gathered the clothing in her arms, threw them into the wardrobe and kicked a stack of shoes she’d been trying on under the bed.
The doorbell pealed again. ‘Coming!’ she called, tucking the hem of her mint-green strappy top into the waistband of ivorycoloured shorts. She’d showered and blow-dried her hair, giving the shoulder-length ends a kick-up curl. One mad and fulfilling hour with Daniel, one five-minute telephone call with Julia and it felt like she’d been reborn as a girly-girl with froufrou on her mind. But she was not pampering herself to please Daniel. She was not. He’d seemed more than satisfied by what she’d offered earlier this morning but the Anne of Green Gables image had stuck in her head. Pampering would boost her morale and make her feel like a real woman again. She’d been putting all her energy into worrying about the renovations and how she was going to get the townspeople on her side. No wonder she hadn’t been sleeping well—she hadn’t given herself even a nanosecond to consider her mental health and wellbeing. Or her happiness. In her quest for completion of the B&B, she’d forgotten about her quest for happiness. Colours were happy and she hadn’t much in the way of colourful clothes, so perhaps after Julia’s beauty scrutiny tomorrow she’d drive into Cooma and shop. Life was suddenly fun. Two girlfriends in town—Sammy and Julia; a few neighbours who were warming up, and a powerful man capable of more than one hot shot a day.
The doorbell pealed a third time. ‘Coming!’ She raced down the hall and swung the front door open, throwing her hair over her shoulders with a bounce of her head and placing a surprised but pleasant smile on her face in case it was Daniel.
‘We’ve got a problem.’
‘Oh …’ Charlotte’s eyes widened as she looked at the twins on her doorstep. ‘Hello.’
‘Can we come in?’ the twin with the purple streak in her hair asked.
‘We need to discuss something,’ shell tattoo said.
With Charlotte? She stepped back and opened the front door wide. ‘Come in. I’ll make coffee. I’ve got some blueberry friands too, if you’re hungry.’
As they walked down the hall in front of her, Charlotte studied their backs. They wore identical dresses apart from the colour. Purple’s dress was … purple, and Shell’s dress was the colour of whipped cream. Both dresses were made of lightweight summery fabric, with capped sleeves; clinched and belted at the waist and full-skirted above the knee. The epitome of a couple of hangers-on in a 1950s Elvis movie.
‘Mrs J said you were smart,’ Purple said as she sat at the kitchen table.
‘And we need some smart advice,’ Shell said, sitting next to her sister.
‘Well, let’s hope I can help.’ Charlotte filled the electric kettle with water, switched it on and gathered mugs, spoons and a jar of granulated coffee.
‘Our dad isn’t well at the moment and Mum’s running the store.’
Charlotte stopped herself from questioning the girls on why they weren’t helping their mum run the store. It was none of her business. ‘Sorry about your dad. Does he have the flu or something?’
Purple shook her head as she took a friand and plopped it onto her plate. ‘He’s hoping for a weird experience.’
‘Out-of-this-world weird,’ Shell said, handing her sister one of the forks Charlotte put onto the table.
Charlotte made the coffees while the girls ate, and then put the mugs onto the table, sitting herself opposite her two unexpected visitors. ‘So what can I help you with?’
‘We’ve got to answer this letter from the guy’s lawyer.’
‘And we don’t want to go to prison.’
‘In case they split us up.’
‘They’re bound to split us up—
just to make the punishment worse.’
‘Punishment for what?’ Charlotte asked, her imagination in overdrive.
‘We were attacked.’
‘In Canberra.’
‘Walking home after a party.’
‘Oh no.’ Charlotte put her mug down. ‘Were either of you hurt? What happened?’
‘We were lucky. There were two of us.’
‘And only one of him. So we attacked him right back.’ Shell stabbed her friand with her fork.
‘We didn’t think we’d get into trouble for it,’ Purple said, sipping coffee. ‘But we did. That’s why we came home for a while.’
‘We’re lying low, but his lawyer found us.’
‘Wait.’ Charlotte held her hand up. ‘First—’ She looked from one to the other. Apart from the different-coloured dresses, the only distinction between the sisters was the purple hair streak and the small shell tattoo. ‘What are your names?’
‘That’s Jillian,’ Purple said.
‘And that’s Jessica,’ Shell said.
That made it so much easier. Charlotte needed a mental reference. Jillian Shell and Jessica Purple. ‘Okay, back up a bit. You were both attacked and fought him off.’
‘Yeah, but Knucklehead had a mate in his car who filmed it on his phone.’
‘He must have nearly peed his pants when we turned on him,’ Jessica Purple said.
‘He would have screamed when Jessica did the Heimlich thing on him, if he’d had breath left to scream.’
‘He was on his knees by that point.’
It sounded like Knucklehead hadn’t figured on his targets fighting back, which gave Charlotte cause to feel proud of the girls, and of every woman who screamed out against such hideous crimes. If only her mother had been able to defend herself. ‘Good for you. Both of you.’
‘Anyway,’ Jillian Shell said, putting her fork onto her now empty plate. ‘Turns out Knucklehead has yet another friend who has a friend who knows this guy.’
‘A lawyer,’ Jessica added, picking up her plate and mug and taking them to the sink. ‘A lawyer who wrote to us telling us that Knucklehead was pressing charges against us for GBH.’ She paused at the sink. ‘Can you beat that?’ The look of outrage on her face was identical to that of her sister’s.
‘No,’ Charlotte said, ‘I can’t beat that.’ Forsters executives were bullies, but they hadn’t tried any physical manoeuvres on her. Although they’d done their best to destroy her reputation after one of their sniffer-dog clerks discovered her history and made snide comments about her in one of his interviews with a journalist.
‘Dad’s supposed to be finding us a lawyer,’ Jillian said as she joined her sister at the sink and put her mug and plate down. ‘But now he’s a bit overcome with his other problems.’
‘So we thought we’d ask your opinion because we figure with you being smart, you’ve probably got a lawyer and maybe we could use him. Or her.’
‘If he or she would take us on,’ Jillian added. ‘Because we haven’t got much money.’
Nobody in town seemed to have an excess of money, except Charlotte. Possibly Sammy and Ethan. They ran a huge spread, about two hundred acres, although she imagined they ploughed their money back into their businesses and town interests. And Daniel—Charlotte sensed Daniel had money.
‘Okay.’ Charlotte crossed her arms and leaned forwards. ‘I have a lawyer, but he’s a property and real estate lawyer, so no good for you. But what we can do is ask him to refer us to the right legal aid. That will likely be a criminal lawyer.’ Charlotte didn’t know, but she’d find out. ‘We can probably request a court-appointed lawyer, which means it’ll be free.’ If it got to court. It sounded more like a dispute that wouldn’t even reach the courthouse steps, but Charlotte was prepared to search out the best possible avenue for the girls to follow. The attacker had been offended and his ego bruised because the girls had bested him. His friend in the car had filmed it, which was evidence of the attack. Served Knucklehead bloody well right. Thank God the twins hadn’t been seriously hurt.
‘Free would be good,’ Jillian said.
If it wasn’t for the coloured streak, the tattoo and the attitude they usually put across, both young women could be taken for lost and bewildered. They appeared quick-witted though, but had got tangled in something bigger than they or their parents could cope with. Mrs J had sent the twins Charlotte’s way and Charlotte wasn’t going to let anyone down.
‘I’ll help you,’ she said, rising from her chair and feeling pride creep up her spine at being considered one of the pack: an unusual but smart woman around town.
‘Thanks very much.’
‘We really appreciate it.’
Charlotte walked them to the door.
‘Dan’s had his delivery then,’ Jessica said, as she and her sister stepped outside.
Charlotte looked down the street as a truck backed out of the alley behind Kookaburra’s.
‘And he’s unloaded them,’ Jillian said. ‘So he must be keeping them.’
‘Unloaded what?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Seven pre-built shower units. They must be to go with his seven toilets.’
‘He’s building an apartment in the upstairs of the bar.’
‘Yes, he told me,’ Charlotte said. Wasn’t it supposed to be a secret?
‘Big space for a single-guy apartment, don’t you think?’ Jillian said.
It was. Charlotte had already thought as much but who was she to question what he wanted from the upstairs area of Kookaburra’s?
‘We think Dan’s up to something.’
‘Like what?’ Charlotte asked.
Jillian shrugged. ‘A hotel, probably.’
‘It figures,’ Jessica said, nodding in agreement with her twin. ‘Seven toilets for seven bathrooms.’
‘Seven bathrooms for seven hotel rooms,’ Jillian answered.
Charlotte smiled. So that’s what he was up to.
Couldn’t pop over to offer you some of my spiciest recipes, could I? Promise to bring my biggest chilli.
Charlotte held her breath as she read the note she’d pulled from Lucy’s collar. It was only three o’clock; he wasn’t supposed to be here for another six hours. He wasn’t supposed to tuck a note into Lucy’s collar for another five hours. She couldn’t help the inner glow of a smile at his more than obvious code. She was pretty sure chillies didn’t get that big.
‘Knock knock.’
Charlotte spun to the open laundry door.
Daniel put his hand on the doorframe and leaned inside. ‘Hi,’ he said. He ran his gaze down her body. ‘You look good enough to eat.’
‘You’re early.’
He stepped inside. ‘Did I disturb you?’
‘No.’ But the moth wings were back, fluttering in her belly as though she’d been starved for a week.
He took hold of the laundry door. ‘Can I close it?’ More code for ‘Can I come in and can we have sex?’
‘If you like.’ Should she tell him she knew about his hotel plans?
He closed the door and locked it. ‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you.’ He walked across the kitchen.
Bugger his hotel. That conversation could wait. Something far more tantalising than Daniel’s secret plans had her rooted to the spot. He’d only been in the house one minute, possibly less, and she was over-thinking and organising the upcoming scenario in her mind. The bed linen was clean but had she made the bed? Would they make it to the bed? Had she put the jumble of clothing away? If he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his hips, would he trip over the shoes still on the floor?
‘I was having a bit of a tidy-up,’ she said as he stopped in front of her.
He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘You smell amazing.’
‘Lychee body wash.’
‘Yeah?’ His voice caressed her the way his smile did.
‘Or it could be the orange-flower shampoo I use.’
He leaned towards her, put his mo
uth on the side of her head and inhaled. ‘Could be.’ His warm breath dived through her hair to her scalp. ‘I like all your fruits.’
He smelled of coffee berries and melon wedges. Together, they could make a lusty fruit cocktail; an aphrodisiac delight. They could bottle it and sell it at the craft centre.
‘You’re thinking too much, Charlotte.’
‘You caught me off-guard.’ Her voice sounded hoarse, and how did he know a hundred thoughts were tumbling in her head?
‘I’d like to catch you any which way.’
Her breathing heightened and her blood pumped faster. There was no way they’d make it to the bed.
‘If you’ll let me,’ he murmured.
‘You do seem to be having an effect on me.’
‘Yeah?’ He wasn’t kissing her hair but the way he skimmed his mouth over her head felt like a bouquet of petal kisses.
‘I got your note.’ She lifted it, still in her hand. ‘You’ve got a spicy recipe for me?’
‘I’d like to see what sort of effect it has on you over the next hour.’ He leaned away from her. ‘How are you fixed for that?’
Where to start? The lemonade effervescence in her stomach or the crackle of buttered popcorn in her chest? ‘Are you giving or are we swapping?’
‘We can each have a turn.’ A smile hovered on his mouth. ‘I’d like to taste some of your sweet pastries.’
‘And what do I get?’
‘My spiciest dish. With hands-on instructions on the methods and procedures I like to use to make sure it’s just so.’
Charlotte went lightheaded as an avalanche of thoughts about the techniques he’d use and how methodical he’d be nearly swept her sideways. She waved the note at him. ‘Did you bring your chilli?’
His smile turned sinful and weakened her knees. ‘Never go anywhere without it.’ He brought his mouth to hers. The intensity of his kiss sent the moths whooping in her stomach and drew so much strength from her upper body that for a second she thought she might swoon. He wound his arms around her, cocooning her, and deepened the kiss.
