by Emily Selby
Josephine let out a noisy breath. "I'll walk towards the beach, but I'll avoid the police, if that's what you think is right for me," she replied and left the café.
Heather leaned against the table. Her roommate was behaving strangely, but she didn't have the time to think about it now. She needed to take care of sorting the windows in Josephine's apartment while she was out.
Heather approached the workers, who'd started unpacking the tools outside by the van.
"Hey, guys! Change of plans," she waved at them. "We need to start with the sleep-out."
A few minutes later, the window fitters were in Josephine's bedroom, spreading their dust covers and drop cloths. Heather wandered around, keeping an eye on their progress.
"Hey, miss, there are some papers on the floor, you may want to take them," the man, who'd introduced himself as the team leader, pointed to the corner by the wardrobe.
Heather picked up the piece of neatly folded, yellowed paper. She reached for the nearest drawer to put it in there, but her curiosity was stronger. She opened the document.
An old newspaper clipping.
Heather skim-read it.
The headline read, 'Live wire in the stream. Two children dead, neighbor fighting for his life.' Below the headline, a grainy, black and white photo of a middle-aged man was layered over an even grainer snapshot of probably the said stream.
A local tragedy. But why had Josephine kept it?
Fair enough, the events had taken place on the South Island, in Canterbury, but apart from the general location, nothing in the article seemed to indicate the tragedy was connected to Josephine in any way. The date of publication was from nearly fifty years earlier. From what Heather knew about her chef and roommate, Josephine and her family would have been living somewhere down that way. Josephine herself would have been a teenager. The children who died were younger, but maybe they'd been siblings of a friend? Or some cousins?
She'd ask her when Josephine returned from her walk.
A gust of wind hit the air. The workers had started pulling out the old windows.
Heather pushed the piece of paper into the pocket of her cardigan.
Has it started to rain?
"Hello, there," she called walking back into the café. "Mr. Team Leader?" she looked around the café's main room.
"Derek," the foreman said, appearing from behind the main door. "It's starting to rain," he added.
"Yes, sorry, Derek," Heather blurted. "That's exactly what I was thinking. Are you going to work in the rain?"
"That's not a problem, as long as you're okay with a little more mud being brought inside."
"We'll deal with it. As long as everything can go according to the schedule and we can have all the downstairs windows exchanged today," she said, hopeful.
"Sure, sweet as. I'll bring more covers," he replied and disappeared outside.
Heather blinked, waiting for the man to complete the "sweet as..." expression, but then he simply shrugged. It may take a while for her to accept the fact that this was, indeed, a complete expression meaning nothing more than, "okay."
She grabbed her phone, itching to know what'd happened with the dead woman in the hut.
"Josephine, come back, please!" she said and then shook her head.
No, Josephine coming back now would just increase the amount of grumbling and huffing. It would be better if she returned after the new windows were fitted.
Had James already interviewed Frida, or was he still busy with the forensics team?
There was a simple way to check it.
Heather dialed Frida's number. She was in luck!
"Vacations with Art, Frida speaking," a familiar voice chirped into the phone.
Either Frida hadn't heard the news yet, or she was an excellent actor.
Or she didn't care. The thought made Heather shudder.
"It's Heather here. Have you heard the news yet?"
"What news?" Frida replied, still cheerful and plainly curious.
Heather told her about the discovery.
"One of my huts?" Frida's voice took on an anxious tone. "Who was it?"
"I wondered if it was that Rose woman."
"Rose Waters?" The shriek down the line made Heather move the device away from her ear. "But ... But... Oh, sweet baby boy!" she gasped and inhaled sharply.
A tense silence filled the line.
"Are you still there, Frida?' Heather asked. The tugging in her gut resurfaced.
She'd forgotten about breakfast! Too much coffee not enough food, Heather!
"Yes ..." Frida hissed. "Are you sure it was Rose?" she asked.
"No, I'm not. Not at all. I don't know her very well. I've only seen her once, from afar and ..." Heather hesitated. "And in that awful pink leotard. But that's easy to check, have you seen her at all this morning?"
Heather could hear Frida's panting. "No," she replied after a couple of especially deep breaths. "Thing is, she seems to be missing. I-I ... haven't seen her at all this morning. She's usually up early."
"Do you think she might have gone to the beach, to paint?"
"Listen, Heather," Frida said, her voice wooden. "I've got to go and check on that hut."
"That's a great idea. The police may need you to identify the body," Heather blurted out and immediately regretted it. "I mean ... I ... I'm sorry if I've upset you."
But Frida had already disconnected the call.
So, Rose Waters was missing. With Frida now on her way to the beach, in ten or fifteen minutes, James might have some extra information.
What pretext could she come up with to call James?
If only Josephine was back, Heather could just sneak out to go to the beach, for a walk, or to pick up the mug she'd left behind.
Was her roommate anywhere near?
Heather shot a glance through the window.
What a nice coincidence. James was heading in her direction. She wouldn't need an excuse to call him.
Heather stepped outside and waved at him.
5
Heather's phone rang. She stepped back to answer it.
"James? Why are you calling me? I can see you," she said, answering the call.
"Yes, but I hoped not to walk all the way up. Can you meet me halfway?"
She rushed outside.
"Thanks. Listen, can you do me a favor, please?" he said.
Ha, that was even better than the best of excuses!
"What it is?"
"I need to stay on the beach with the forensic team. I'll send someone to take a statement and the fingerprints from you, okay?"
"Yes, no problem."
"I've got another request, if I may? Could I leave Axel with you in the meantime? It won't take long. An hour, maybe two. He just needs some clean water and somewhere cozy to have a nap. He's been well walked. I can't have him running around the crime scene and don't want to send him home on his own."
Ah, the crime scene...
"Sure," Heather replied, when the big German shepherd emerged from behind James. "But we've got window fitters all day today..." she said. "It may not be as quiet..."
"He'll be fine. I'll tell him to stick around. He's a good boy. If you have any problems, just ring me."
"Well, if he doesn't mind, we'll find a way. I've got some bowls and-" she paused, realizing the bowls were being used and why.
She glanced nervously to her side. But the sunny patch was empty, and the cat was nowhere in sight.
Thank heavens! He must have lit out when the workers arrived. The few encounters between Axel and the little black cat so far ended up with the kitty getting stuck up in a tree or running away.
At least, that particular disaster might have been avoided.
"Thanks Heather, I appreciated it. I'll give you a-"
"Hey, James," Heather interrupted, conscious this was her shot at wheedling some information from him. "No problem. What about that woman in the hut? Is it really Rose Waters?"
James whistled. "I see you
have already formed an opinion, and you even know the name now. Did you lie to me earlier?" he asked in that dreadful neutral tone, which confused her. She still hadn't learnt to recognize when he was using humor and when he was being deadly serious.
"No, I've talked to Frida. Have you yet?"
"Yes, she's just arrived, looking really shocked."
"So, it is the quarrelsome Rose?" Heather said quietly to herself.
But James was in his cop mode. "Quarrelsome?" he asked sharply.
"Yeah. Hasn't Frida told you?"
"Nope. She’s not told me much at all. Mostly, she’s been staring, shaking her head and crying."
Strange... Didn’t sound much like Frida...
"Sorry, I've got to go, I'm sending Axel and an officer to you, okay?"
"Okay, but was Rose murdered?' she demanded
"At this stage, we're treating it as an accidental death. I’ll collect Axel as soon as I’m free here. Sorry, I've got to run. Thanks for helping out, Heather," James said and disconnected.
Heather waited for Axel and the local cop. It didn’t take long for her to give the statement - Heather just repeated her moves this morning and explained how she entered the hut and the body. She also confirmed that she hadn't seen anyone or anything suspicious that morning.
The officer took all her details, her fingerprints and left.
All that time Axel was sitting at her feet. When they finished, Heather patted his back.
“You are a good boy, aren’t you?”
She took him inside, pulled a soup plate out of the cupboard, filled it with water and left in a corner as far from the cat's bowls as she could manage.
Heather searched for a place to sit and wait. Since there was nothing else she could do about the situation, she was stuck in the house with the dog.
"We are about to start drilling, miss," a male voice said behind the back. "Are you okay with that?"
Heather shrugged. "Sure, go ahead," she replied.
It couldn't get much worse. She dragged a chair outside and returned for a book. Perhaps she should take Axel and settle him on the deck. Although there was no way to escape the noise, the dog might have preferred to be beside a familiar human.
On reflection, she might prefer to go upstairs? Heather put her hand on the banister and glanced at Axel, who was still happily lapping water.
Nah, she couldn’t take him upstairs and not expect any damage.
Heather climbed the stairs to her apartment. She stood by her bookcase and ran her finger along the spines. She had been a fan of mysteries and thrillers for many years. Her own little library was still on its way from New York, but in the meantime, she had collected a few books from the town’s charity shops and the local library.
She pulled a book out.
Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco?
It was one of her favorites, but why choose it now?
She grabbed the book and ran downstairs. Whatever was behind the choice, she might be able to learn it if she started rereading the book.
With a towel placed under the table for his comfort, she beckoned Axel to join her on the deck, and they settled down beneath the sail roof.
At least, this way they were both sheltered from the vertical rain. In case of any horizontal rain, they'd have to go back inside. But for now, the inside was full of drilling noises and clouds of dust.
Heather opened her book and immediately realized why she wanted to re-read it.
The woman in the hut had her fingers and her lips stained, which was why Heather thought she had been poisoned! Just like the characters in the Name of the Rose.
She'd check with James if her suspicions were correct when he came to collect Axel but, for now, Heather was fully intending to immerse herself in the story.
The peace didn't last long.
"Hey, Heather," Derek, the foreman, appeared in the doorway. Heather lifted her head. She’d already begun to recognize his voice.
"What is it now?" She asked, trying to hide the annoyance.
The non-stop drilling was not helping her already foul mood. Where was Josephine, why hadn't she returned? And, if she did come back, how could she get her to stay and supervise the window fitting?
"We're getting the bedroom and the living room windows in and will be starting on the bathroom window and the little sleep-out soon."
At least there was some progress in the works.
"And so?" Heather asked still not hiding her frustration.
Derek scratched his balding head. "There are some personal effects on the floor in the bathroom. Could you come and clean up? We need access to the window."
Shoot!
Josephine clearly hadn't prepared her place properly, even though she'd been the one demanding her windows be changed. And had been doing it loudly ever since Heather’s arrival.
Heather didn't want to meddle into Josephine's personal affairs, but since she was nowhere around, needs must ...
Reluctantly, Heather climb to her feet. She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket, used it as a bookmark, and left the book on the seat.
"Stay here, good boy, Axel," she said to the dog, who lifted his head. "I'll be back soon."
She went to the bathroom. Derek was right. Josephine's nightie was still on the rack together with the towels. Heather collected the items, dropped them into the laundry basket and pushed the basket to the washing machine.
"And these little things, too," Derek pointed to an array of toiletries on the shelf above the sink. Heather picked up the bottles and tubes and shoved them into the cabinet under the sink. The medicine cabinet above it was slightly open. She pushed the door to close it, but it stuck.
Heather opened the mirrored door and a small box fell out. She picked it from the floor. It was empty.
Laxatives?
She glanced into the rubbish basket beside the sink and discovered another empty box, just like the one in her hand.
Ah, so that was probably Josephine's not feeling well. Obviously, embarrassing...
Heather dropped the empty box into the bin and carried it to the washing machine. The washing machine had to double as a storage bin for the day.
"Is that good enough?" she asked.
"Good as gold," Derek replied, rubbing his hands. "We'll get onto it right away. "
Heather forced a smile. Her stomach grumbled. She remembered she hadn't eaten that morning, even though it was nearly ten o’clock.
She returned to the kitchen, rummaged through the fridge, and struck it lucky!
There was still some of the delicious Pavlova left, as well as a few crustless mini quiches leftover from the party. She loaded some onto her plate and headed for the terrace.
The sky had darkened since she'd left. Another shower was on its way.
At least, she knew it wouldn't last too long. She settled back into her seat and checked on Axel, who acknowledged her arrival by opening one eye lazily and promptly closing it again.
Heather bit into one of Josephine's quiches.
What Josephine lost with her grumpiness, she definitely gained with her baking.
Heather closed her eyes, trying to decode the ingredients. Yesterday, she'd been too busy practicing her own cocktail to check on what Josephine was doing. Besides, Josephine didn't like people watching her while she was baking.
"Bacon, spring onions and corn. Some herbs..." Heather muttered to herself. "Um... heavenly..."
"Really? That's nice," Josephine's voice cut through Heather's moment of quiet pleasure, (Derek and his gang must have been busy without their drilling tools, as the surroundings were, indeed, quiet).
"You're back," Heather exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "I've been worried about you."
"No worries," Josephine replied. Heather noticed that the bulge from the pocket had shifted to Josephine's chest.
"I see they're still here," Josephine said, pointing to the white van with her chin.
"Currently working on your bathroom window."
&nbs
p; Josephine exhaled loudly.
"How much longer?"
"No idea, so why don't you grab a coffee and sit with me enjoying the sun. Oh, I mean, whatever sunshine we can get in-between these showers," Heather corrected herself.
The first wave of tiny droplets discharged on the sail above her head and landed on the planks of the terrace.
"Or, you can just sit beside me and share some of these excellent quiches or Helen's Pavlova," Heather said and grinned.
Josephine was still towering over her, with her jaw set.
"I suppose so," she grunted and pulled herself another chair.
"Just mind Axel," Heather pointed under the table. "James will be collecting him soon," she rushed to add what she considered to be the crucial piece of information.
Josephine stared at her.
"Okay," she replied, still looking distracted, or immersed in her thoughts.
She plopped into the chair.
"Are you feeling better?" Heather asked, pushing the plate towards her roommate.
"Uhm, a little," Josephine replied, craning her neck in the direction of her sleep-out.
Some of the fitters continued putting the new living room window, but the bathroom was on the other side of the house, and not visible from the terrace.
"Where have you been?" Heather asked.
Honestly, Josephine needed to improve her conversational skills. No wonder the café had not been doing too well, regardless of the delicacies she produced.
"In the harbor, for a walk."
"So not on the beach?"
"No."
Heather chewed on her cheek. Was it the right moment to tell Josephine about the ... what did James call it?
Ah, a suspicious death...
She was bound to find out, if she hadn't yet.
"Have you heard the news yet? About the body in the hut?"
Josephine twitched.
"No. Who is it?" she asked, glancing at Heather, but still strangely distracted.
Heather told her about Rose.
Two deep lines appeared on Josephine's forehead.
"Frida never liked the woman, did she?" Josephine shook her head. "She's been trouble. And this year ... honestly ... behaving very strangely. Loud, singing and dancing on the beach in the evening, telling everyone she was greeting the sun," Josephine rattled off. Heather opened her mouth to ask who she was talking about, but Josephine was already well under way.
