by Emily Selby
Without waiting for her reply, he turned and marched away, towards the side wall, where his team was tackling one of the remaining tasks.
Heather heaved a sigh.
"I'm sure this can be glued together," she said, putting her arm around the other woman's back.
"But it'll be fragile, always prone to splitting. All the door opening and tapping against it... It won't take it," Josephine complained.
Awesome!
"So maybe you can hang the sign in your bedroom? It'll be safe there," Heather suggested, controlling her voice. This happy accident might be an opportunity to shift Josephine's resistance to changing the name of the café. "It'll look perfect on that wall beside your carved cupboard. It's a similar style, isn't it?"
Josephine slid her glasses off her nose.
"Of course it is, it's my grandfather's work."
"He was a great artist," Heather added in what she hoped was a soothing voice. She gently guided her roommate towards the kitchen. "How about a nice cup of tea?"
Any more drama such as this and she might have to switch to heavy tea-drinking.
Josephine reluctantly agreed to a cup of hot mint tea, and as soon as it was ready, she grabbed it and headed back to her sleep-out, taking the broken sign with her.
"Josephine," Heather called out after her. "You seem upset about more than the sign. Anything I can do to help?"
"Just stay around, will you? I'm busy looking for important documents and those workers can't be trusted."
The door slammed shut, sending a waft of dust into the air.
With Josephine out of the room, Heather considered it a good moment to call James and run an intelligence cross-check.
And try to get some more information...
As she reached for her cell phone, a long, vibrating vroom of the drill pierced the air.
Heather dropped the phone back into her handbag. She'd make better use of her time by cleaning the dust in the kitchen.
A couple of hours later, Derek stood in the kitchen doorway.
"We've finished," he announced. His suntanned face was smudged, but it didn't make his smile any less brighter. "That last one right at the corner was a tough job."
Heather closed the dishwasher she had just finished loading.
"Are you leaving then?" she asked.
She was itching to check on Josephine and, of course, touch base with James.
"Very soon. We'll just clean under the windows on the outside and be ready to go."
"Yes. We've got the quote." Heather suppressed a wince at the thought of it. The downstairs windows were more expensive as there were more of them, but the thought of having to spend another bucketload of money she didn't have made her eyes well.
"Would you like to book a date for the fitting of the upstairs windows?" Derek asked, reaching into his pocket.
"No, no!" Heather protested. "I'll ring your office when I've got more... I mean a clearer idea when we'll be able to do it."
They needed to get the café up and running again as soon as possible.
"Alright then. Can you check our work to confirm everything is okay with you?" Derek made a move indicating he wanted her to somehow accept the job done.
Heather followed.
Fortunately, it all looked good. Heather opened a few windows and closed them repeatedly, deliberately using a little more force than she would normally do. None of the frames fell out, or even wobbled. The panes were all immaculate. The floor underneath and the windowsill had been swept clean.
"God job. You've even cleaned!" Heather exclaimed.
Derek beamed.
"That's how we work. You'll have to wet wipe the surfaces, but otherwise it's good to go."
Heather thanked the team and watched them drive away.
Now, she could finally call James. She grabbed her phone
The door to Josephine's sleep-out opened, and the tall, hunched figured appeared in the gap.
"Will you be going to town?" Josephine asked.
"Why? Do we need anything?"
"If you get some ingredients, I could make a something nice for dinner."
Heather's stomach grumbled. She realized with Josephine gobbling most of the quiches and Pavlova from her plate earlier on, Heather hadn't eaten much all day, and it was nearly 5 pm.
But why was Josephine suddenly so keen to share?
"Do you need anything else from town besides the ingredients?" Heather asked.
Josephine stepped into the kitchen area. She was holding the pieces of the kea nameplate in hand.
"I wanted to glue it together, but I need special glue. Could you check if Sam at Paper Plus has anything?"
Oh, the blooming kea nameplate...
"Okay, if it will help you feel better..."
Josephine's mouth bent up. Heather wouldn't call it a smile, but it was probably as close an approximation as her roommate could manage.
"It would. Thanks. Can you get some streaky bacon? I used it all yesterday for the quiches, and I'm thinking of making seafood chowder."
"That sounds lovely. Of course, I can get it. What about seafood?"
"I'll get it at the harbor," Josephine said, crossing the kitchen to the hall area and collecting her jacket from the hanger.
"But you went to the harbor this morning. Why didn't you get it then?"
"If I'd known I was going to cook it for dinner, I would have," Josephine mumbled, pulling on her jacket.
A few seconds later she was out.
Why didn't she offer to get the bacon as well?
Heather shrugged. It looked like whatever had been going on with Josephine had affected her functioning. At least, the offer of dinner sounded delicious.
But first, she needed to call James.
"Any news?" she asked, as if it was agreed he would provide her with some.
"Are you trying your tricks on me?" he replied, with a note of amusement in his voice.
"Why not? Did you think ours was a one-way deal?"
"I hoped you'd do it to help the forces of law and order, as a good citizen."
"And I am. I am a good Kiwi citizen," Heather fired back. "But as a shrewd American, I can't pass an opportunity to get a good deal."
A moment of hesitation at the other end of the line followed.
"I'm not sure if I'm authorized to trade with you."
"Yes, you are. It’s all part of the Trans-Pacific Partnership Agreement," she announced, a jolt of pride filling her chest.
"The TPPA is defunct. Besides, the US has never signed it."
"Oh," she let out a groan. "And here I am thinking I've impressed you."
"You did," he replied. "And on the basis of that, I may be open to some trading. On World Trade Organization basis. Everyone protects their own stuff."
Heather heaved another sigh.
"That's unfair trading. Which reminds me of what Frida said. Are you aware of the court case?"
"Specify, please."
She reported what she'd learned from Frida.
"Yes, we've got that," James replied. "By the way, do you know of anyone who has access to rat poison, or a large quantities of laxatives?"
Heather's heart froze for a few seconds and then broke into a gallop.
"Possums," she said, automatically. "It's possums here, have you forgotten? I guess any farmer could have some. You need to check with them. Why are you asking? Was Rose poisoned?"
Well, even if she was, it would have been poison, not a packet of laxatives...
"We need an autopsy to determine the cause of death, but the lab found a fair amount of poison, in her paints," he replied. "And strangely also laxatives."
A large bead of cold sweat formed on her temple and rolled down the side of her face.
"Did you say laxatives?" Heather croaked.
"Yes, why?" His voice took on a sharper edge.
She told him about the boxes in Josephine's bathroom.
"She said she'd given them to..." Heather paused to steady her b
reath. "Frida."
"Ah." There was another long pause on James’s end of the line. "That's interesting. Thank you."
After he disconnected, Heather stood with the phone in her hand, watching the screen go dark.
Her head was humming.
Possum poison? But why laxatives?
It didn't make any sense...
Shocked, Heather needed to sit down for a minute or two.
8
About an hour later, Heather left the café, a little calmer after a cup of coffee and with a clearer view on the poison and laxatives problem.
It wasn't even worth worrying about. Maybe Josephine, or even Frida put the diarrhea-inducing medicine into the paints, but neither of them were capable or poisoning anyone. Frida was a pacifist and a vegetarian. Josephine, even in her most prickly of moods, seemed largely harmless, if one knew how to avoid her.
Besides, why would Josephine want to harm Rose Waters? During the short time Heather had lived in the small coastal town, she'd seen no signs of animosity between the two women.
Frida, on the other hand...
But Frida was incapable of harming anyone, surely!
So, someone else must have added possum poison to the paint jars?
Heather was so absorbed in her thoughts she didn't realize she reached Samantha's Paper Plus shop.
Maybe she needed to get the bacon first?
Both stores were due to close at 6 pm though. She'd have to be quick.
"G'd day, Sam," Heather shouted, walking in.
"Haven't you ever heard that? Honestly?" A male voice filled the small store. "What do you do all day here, people? Don't you ever gossip?"
A tall, bulky man dressed in a pair of long, dark green rubber work boots – locally known as gumboots – and a long, yellow rain coat stood at the counter, waving his arms.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Waters," Samantha said, her expression indicating this might have not been the first time she'd uttered the same sentence during the conversation. Heather sneaked closer to the counter.
Mr. Waters, the unpleasant husband?
"Rose told me a few times that people had threatened her. This town is dangerous," he yelled, and in a flash, he left.
"Whoa, that was quite a thing," Heather commented.
Samantha rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it. The man's been ranting and raving for a good ten minutes before you arrived."
"But why was he yelling at you?"
"I guess, it’s due to proximity. But maybe she told him she talked to me or something. I couldn't understand much."
"He was upset and to be fair, he has good reasons to be upset. That was is Rose's husband, I guess?"
Sam nodded.
"I would have normally asked someone so obnoxious to leave, but it's fair enough. No one can expect you to be calm if you just found out your wife was poisoned."
Heather pricked her ears.
"Was she? Have you heard any news?"
"Oh, yes,' Sam stared at Heather, her big eyes wide open. "They've just arrested Frida."
Heather wheezed in a breath.
"Why?" she asked.
"They found her fingerprints all over the paint pots with the poison and traces of it in her shed. Apparently, the husband says Rose complained about Frida threatening her."
"Death threats?"
"Or so he says. I've never heard anything specific, but I have heard many arguments. And quite a few people knew about their disagreements over the company management. And Frida was seen over by the huts last night. The police must have decided they had enough proof."
Heather shook her head slowly.
Even though, all the elements seemed to fit together, she had a gut feeling this was not right.
Frida was not the murdering type. Heather needed to talk to James about it, and the sooner the better
When Heather returned to the café, fortunately snatching a packet of streaky bacon just before the grocery store closed, Josephine was back. She had already taken over the kitchen, sweating shallots in butter. A colander full of cockles and mussels took up most of the space in the sink.
"Here's what you wanted," Heather said, and left the packet of bacon on the worktop.
Under any other circumstances, she would have left the kitchen since Josephine didn't like people watching her cook. But Heather's head was brimming with a mixture of worry and confusion. She leant against the wall by the fridge.
"I've just heard that Rose Waters was poisoned. The police arrested Frida," Heather said.
Josephine glanced at her while continuously stirring the contents of the frying pan.
"Not surprised," she said. "After what I told them."
"When did you talk to the police?"
As far as Heather was concerned, Josephine had spent most of her day between the harbor and her bedroom.
"A sergeant on the jetty this morning was asking about last night. I told him about Frida."
"About the laxatives?"
"Why do you keep talking about those darned laxatives? I thought you've grown out of bathroom humor," Josephine said.
Just as her mother would have done, Heather pushed the comparison aside.
"Never mind, it was a possum poison, apparently. But I don't think Frida did it."
Josephine shrugged and grabbed the bacon. She opened the packet and chopped it in silence.
Heather pushed on. "Do you think Frida could have done it?"
"We saw her last night, by the hut, didn't we?" Josephine asked still chopping.
"But we didn't see her very clearly," Heather replied. "It was dark. Besides, she might have just been there to have a look around. I can't imagine her harming anyone. Can you?"
"Plenty of motives though."
"Apparently, her husband is saying that Rose complained Frida had threatened her."
Josephine's knife dropped on the chopping board with thud.
"How do you know?" Josephine asked, staring at Heather through narrowed eyes.
"I heard him say it to Sam Woods. Just a few minutes ago."
"Of course, he's here. No doubt throwing his weight around and accusing other people," Josephine mumbled and grabbed the chopping board. The bacon joined the shallots in the frying pan. While the sizzling filled the kitchen, Heather inhaled the sweet and smoky aroma. Her stomach rumbled again.
"Frida and Mr. Waters don't like each other, do they?" Heather suggested. Checking her hypothesis was one of her favorite interviewing techniques. Surprisingly, the more outrageous her claim was, the more likely the other side was to open up to her.
"Mr. Waters doesn't like many people, and vice versa," Josephine observed, still focused on dinner.
Heather pushed on. "I see you know him quite well. Is he an old acquaintance?"
Josephine turned to face her. Her pencil-thin eyebrows shot up.
"Maybe," she said. "But nothing to talk about."
Josephine continued stirring the contents of the pan for a couple of minutes. Then, she moved the ingredients from the pan into the pot, adding diced vegetables she had prepared in a bowl.
Heather continued watching, considering her next questions. But no matter how much she rattled her journalist brain, she realized her techniques were likely to fail with Josephine today.
She had already learned that, as far as Josephine was concerned, a grumpy day was a quiet day.
"Heather, you’re are a journalist, right?" Josephine asked suddenly while putting a cover on the part.
It was an unusual question, considering Josephine knew her former occupation very well. But Heather nodded.
"How can I find an old newspaper article?"
"In the archives," Heather replied.
"The newspaper's archives? Physically? Would I need to go there?"
"You can try searching online. A lot of magazines and newspapers digitized their archived files."
"Can I do it from our computer?"
"As long as it is not behind a pay wall or available to subscriber
s only," Heather replied. "In that case, you could still do it from home, if you've subscribed or paid for the privilege."
Josephine marched to the pantry and returned with a bag of flour.
"Thank you," she said simply. "This'll be ready about twenty minutes. Do you mind setting the table and cutting some bread?"
Heather wanted to ask a few more questions. What sort of article was she looking for? What for? Where from? But it was clear that the attention her roommate had granted her was over. Heather rushed to set the table. Maybe there would be another opportunity to pump Josephine for information during dinner.
Heather set the table and a loud, distressed meow caught her ear.
"Could you let him in, please?" Josephine asked.
"We really do need to fit a cat flap," Heather replied, but she rushed to the back door.
The cat darted between her legs and scrambled up the stairs and Heather immediately realized why the animal was so distressed.
Axel was standing at the bottom of the steps leading to the terrace, wagging his large tail.
"Hello Axel," Heather greeted. "Where is your owner?"
Axel turned his head towards the sea.
"Is he at the beach?"
Axel barked and wagged his tail again.
That was probably the most Heather could expect to get out of him. Not much better than her interview with Josephine.
Speaking of Josephine, since there was still about fifteen minutes to dinner, Heather snuck out.
She rushed across the terrace waving at Axel.
"Take me to your master, Axel, good boy. I've got something to tell him."
She saw James from afar, walking alongside another familiar figure she had seen earlier. A tall, stout man wearing a yellow jacket and green gumboots.
They were heading towards the hut where Heather had found Rose's body.
"She was a lovely woman, always proud of her appearance," the man said loudly. "She helped me with the business."
Heather jogged closer, trying to be as quiet as possible. She put her finger on her lips and looked at Axel, hoping he would understand. She didn't want the dog to interrupt what appeared to be a very interesting conversation. She hoped the noise of the waves crashing against the shore would cover her presence.
Axel glanced at her and wagged his tail.
