Jasmine Sea

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  “You? Scared? Let’s just focus on what we do next.”

  “I need some guidance from you, Derek.”

  He sighed. “Come home. There’s little point staying anyway, so get yourself back here and we’ll sit down with the legal team. Just in case.”

  “I’ll be there in a couple of hours, thank you.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Derek, wait. I’m going to get you that cottage and land. Don’t give up on me yet.”

  “You do and this mess will all go away. I’ll make it go away, no matter what I have to do.” He hung up.

  Ingrid didn’t move. She could be on a plane to London within hours. Reunite with Leon, the husband she’d barely spoken to in months. He’d whisk her away somewhere where this little problem didn’t exist. Not yet. She had unfinished business here.

  ***

  Martin paced around the kitchen as he spoke to Trev by phone. On a stool at the counter, Christie longed to lean against him and close her eyes. She wished this day was behind her, along with its revelations and problems.

  “You look ready to fall asleep.” Martin finished the call and now half-smiled at Christie. “Do you want coffee?”

  “Do you think I should sell the cottage?”

  “Where did that come from?” He wandered around to sit on a stool beside her. “Is this because of the break-in?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. What if Thomas and Martha don’t want it, or should they even live there? It is so isolated.”

  Martin burst into laughter.

  “But it is!”

  “Sorry, sweetheart. Not laughing at you, but please remember Thomas has a house halfway up a mountain, with no shops or neighbours for miles. And Martha’s place in Ireland doesn’t sound particularly populated. Why not see what they think?”

  “But what if they don’t? I’ve got someone who wants to buy it now and that way I can just finish fixing it up and move on.”

  “Where?”

  “Where what? Oh, move where?” Christie bit her lip.

  “Are you planning on moving back to Melbourne?”

  Her eyes shot up to his. “No, I want to live in River’s End. Just forget I said anything... I’m tired and rambling at the moment.” Her expression pleaded for him to let it go.

  “Would you like to rest for a bit? I can take Randall out.”

  She smiled. “I’m okay, thank you. What did Trev say?”

  Martin returned to the kitchen and got coffee cups out. “He is very interested in chatting to Ingrid. Still too soon for any fingerprint results, which might take a few days. He’d also like to see us both for a formal statement and he’ll catch up with John.”

  Christie checked her watch. “I have to see Barry before he leaves.”

  “Let’s go to the beach later. I’ll bring some food and we can sit on the sand and watch the sunset. Have a swim if you like.”

  “Yes. Yes, please.” Then, she frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know that I really want to go back to work.”

  “It will only be for a short time.” Martin brought their coffee around. “Let’s have this, then I’m going shopping.”

  ***

  “It’s too risky. Aren’t you in enough trouble?” Rupert tossed a cigarette butt out of the window and watched a breeze roll it from the car park into the graveyard.

  “Not your concern.” Ingrid’s voice through the hands-free phone lost none of its coldness. “But the best way to put them off the scent is with another few break-ins and there’s no reason to wait until the middle of the night.”

  “Jeez, are you determined for me to get caught? And before you give me some sarcasm, don’t think for one minute I’ll be quiet about it. I go down, so will you. And Derek Hobbs.” He grabbed another cigarette.

  “Calm down, Rupert. Nobody is getting caught and you won’t be stealing anything. Think of it as a bit of a shake-up. After all, people need a reminder at times that they have it good. Anyway, you’re already getting a ridiculously high bonus so stop complaining and do your job.”

  “Fine. Where exactly do you want me to start then? I can’t very well spend days casing the town.”

  “There are three houses I have in mind. One isn’t even occupied, up at the estate. Half the furniture is there but no people. It’s on the back road. Number thirty-eight.”

  “Then?”

  “Then phone me and I’ll send you to the next one. As long as it’s before five, you’ll get in and out without being interrupted. So be quick with the first one.” She hung up.

  Rupert swore and tossed his half-finished smoke out. “Bitch.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Hands full with a tower of cake boxes, Sylvia pushed the door open with her hip. The top box slid and she almost lost the lot trying to save it. Daphne caught it and giggled.

  “Good thing I looked up when I did! Whatever have you got here?” She put the box onto the counter and helped Sylvia.

  “I’ve been thinking about what happened up at the cottage. Thought those boys helping out up there deserved a little something for having to clean up that vandal’s work. And Christie might need a cheer up.”

  Daphne threw her arms around Sylvia. “You generous woman! What a lovely idea.”

  “Thanks.” Sylvia mumbled, extricating herself from Daphne’s embrace. “Thought I might drive up there in a bit. If you’d like to come, of course.”

  “Do I have time to run home and pick up some of John’s home brew? I’m sure he won’t mind sharing his beer given the circumstances.”

  “Can I leave these here, then? I wouldn’t mind freshening up before going.”

  Daphne regarded Sylvia with interest. With her hair in its customary messy bun and a flour covered apron, Sylvia was just... Sylvia. Unless it was because Barry Parks was overseeing the renovation?

  “Daphne?” Sylvia interrupted her thoughts. “I said I’ll be back in an hour if that’s enough time?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll just let John know and then I’ll pop to the house. Shouldn’t take long at all.” Daphne moved the boxes to her desk behind the taller counter. Wouldn’t want someone coming along and taking them. There’d been quite enough crime for one day in the town.

  ***

  Christie was surprised to see Trev’s police car parked near the Lotus outside Martin’s gate. Trev was near the cliff’s edge, taking photographs of something on the ground, so she changed direction to join him. It was a thin box with one side ripped off. Within the box was a watercolour painting.

  “Trev?”

  “Oh, Christie. I thought I’d drop by and catch you both here. This caught my eye.”

  “Where was it?”

  “Here. Looks like someone threw it with some force. Bounced a bit, I’d say.”

  “That’s her. Ingrid Kauffman.” Christie stared at the face in the painting. Although her hair was now red, those unmistakable eyes stared back. Martin had such talent. He’d captured her coldness perfectly. No wonder he’d felt something was wrong.

  “This is the painting Martin did?” Trev straightened up.

  “She must have hated it.”

  “Sounds as though she didn’t actually want it. All a ruse. Looks like she’s on a boat.”

  “That’s Willow Bay.” Why there? Which boat would Martin use because there was no way he’d take some strange woman onto... but it is. The beautiful timber surrounds and silver railing gave it away. Ice cold tentacles crept through Christie’s veins until they reached her heart, wrapping themselves around it and extinguishing the warmth. Martin took Ingrid to Jasmine Sea. My boat.

  “Ah, yes I can see that now. Must have taken hours.”

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “You can’t stay and let me interview you now?” Trev picked up the box at an angle, to keep the painting from falling out. “Are you feeling okay? You look pale.”

  “I’ve got to go.” She backed away, then spun toward the gate.
r />   “Hey, wait up. Christie, let’s go to the house.”

  She shook her head without looking back. “I’m okay. Just a long day. I’ll drop in to see you soon.” Please let me go. Her feet quickened until she reached the gate. From here she saw Trev stride toward the house. In a minute, Martin would come looking for her.

  At the car she grabbed the door handle. Locked. She almost turned her bag upside down before remembering her keys were in her pocket. The door opened this time and she threw herself in. With a roar, the motor started.

  ***

  Head in the fridge, Martin heard the Lotus power down the road. He glanced at Randall, who stood staring at the sliding door. “Sounds like she’s in a rush. Lie down, mate.”

  Instead, Randall trotted to the door as Trev tapped on it. “Martin?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  Trev dropped the box on the counter. “Found this just along the cliff top. That’s her – Ingrid or Bethany?”

  “Please tell me Christie didn’t see it.”

  “Umm...”

  Martin swore.

  “Sorry, mate. Didn’t see her coming and didn’t know—”

  “Not your fault. Mine, mine entirely. What happened?”

  “Dunno. One minute she was fine, then she said something about Willow Bay and took off.”

  “Without a word?”

  “Said she had to go. Looked as though she’d seen a ghost but if there’s been a problem in the past with this Ingrid, then that’s understandable.”

  “I might go and find her.”

  “Sure. I’m going to take this for a bit, if you don’t mind. If Ingrid’s handled it, there’ll be fingerprints. And if they match those from the cottage...”

  “Be my guest. Feel free to destroy it afterwards.”

  “Right.” Trev raised his eyebrows and picked up the box. “Give me a call. You know, if you need me.”

  I need more than a friendly police officer. Martin wanted to kick himself. Now he had two problems to deal with and all he could hope was that Christie’s forgiving heart would listen.

  ***

  Daphne hummed as she hurried to her front door, keys in hand. How thoughtful Sylvia was, and even John surprised her by offering the beer before she got the chance to ask. Such a lovely community and, in reality, so safe. Whatever happened last night at the cottage was some anomaly. Thrill seekers passing through.

  As she inserted the key, she was sure she heard a thud. Surely, it wasn’t from inside her house? She giggled at her silliness and turned the key. The door opened with the slight squeak John hadn’t got around to fixing.

  Thud.

  She jumped. Heart racing, she peered down the hallway. “Hello?”

  Silence. Then the back door clicked shut.

  Daphne let out a small squeal.

  Hand on the door knob, she listened. No more sounds. She grabbed her phone with shaking hands and dialled John’s mobile. “Come on, come on.”

  “What did you forget—”

  “John,” she whispered. “There’s someone in the house.”

  “Daphne? What did you say?”

  “Well, I think they’ve gone, but someone was here.” She tiptoed down the hallway.

  “Did you say someone is in our home? Where are you?”

  “In the hallway. I’m going to see.”

  “Get out of the house! I’m on my way.”

  Daphne stopped at the dining room doorway and turned on the light. Every cupboard door was open. All of her precious crystal glasses and the china dinner set from their wedding were shattered on the dining room table.

  “Oh my.”

  “Daphne, are you out of the house yet?”

  With a bloodcurdling scream, Daphne dropped the phone and ran down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  “Love? Daphne?”

  ***

  Christie couldn’t remember how she got back to the cottage. The drive was a blur as, bit by bit, she’d created a wall around herself. Numbness replaced the panic but somewhere deep down, dark feelings swirled.

  “Ah, there you are, good.” Barry came out of the garage. “It’s all sorted in here and we’ve got all the undamaged stuff in the cottage.”

  “Oh. That’s great.”

  Barry narrowed his eyes. “Feeling okay? Still a bit upset about it?”

  “Um, yes. So, you wanted me to see something.”

  “This might cheer you up a bit.” He led the way to the cottage, talking over his shoulder. “Made some progress on that front entry way. Quite interesting what’s in there.”

  “In there?”

  “Yup. Expected an empty space behind the bricks. Even some debris, but not what we found.”

  Noise filled the cottage. Drills, hammering, music. Barry called out. “Take a break.” He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Take ten minutes.” Quiet descended and the workmen trailed out, each with a smile for Christie. Barry picked up a torch from a workstation.

  Part of the brick wall was demolished, leaving a roughly oval hole in the middle. Not big enough to fit through, it nevertheless allowed Christie and Barry to peer in. Barry directed the beam of light through the gap.

  The old entry smelt musty. The flooring was different to the rest of the house, with lovely old tiles. Both original walls were clad with timber to half way. “Looks like mountain ash.” Barry commented as he highlighted them.

  “Nice.”

  “Yes, but look above the cladding.”

  Framed oil paintings hung on two walls, their vivid colours glowing through dust and dirt.

  Christie gasped. “These must be the paintings Thomas did!”

  “And look at the front, where the new door will go.”

  Leaning against the weatherboards were more paintings and a box. The box was closed, but somehow Christie knew that it contained all of Thomas’ precious brushes and paints. His father hadn’t thrown them away.

  “See, I need to open the rest of this up real slow and make sure no damage is done.”

  Christie turned incredulous eyes to Barry. “This will change his life.”

  “Don’t know why they’re here, but I guess there’s a story behind it. We’ll take care, I promise you. Oh, meant to say that Martin rang just before you got here. Asked you to hang around, couldn’t reach your phone.”

  “Um, I’ll wait out the front. Thanks.”

  “No worries.”

  Christie sprinted down the hallway, through the kitchen and out the back door. No sound of the motorcycle so he’d be on foot. She had time. Time for what?

  “I’m sorry I let her back into your life.” Martin had said that only an hour or so ago. Now the words mocked her. He’d not only let her back in, he’d taken her to one of their special places. No wonder he’d said they’d talk about Jasmine Sea another time. He had no intention of giving her the yacht.

  Before the feelings could completely overpower her, Christie ran to the Lotus. She had to find somewhere to think. To breath. To make decisions.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  In the fourteen years Senior Constable Trevor Sibbritt had protected River’s End, he could only recall a handful of crimes. A couple of shoplifting attempts from misguided kids, arrests for drunk and disorderly, and some angry neighbours. Nothing serious. He liked it that way. An orderly town meant a happy town, and River’s End was the happiest place he’d ever lived.

  At first, the events of the night added some zing to his otherwise ordinary routine. An average day saw him direct traffic around errant sheep, check in on several more isolated residents, and give safety talks at the schools in the region.

  A real case reminded him why he’d become a police officer and put an extra spring in his step. With the new information about an outsider going under two names with intent to deceive and probably more, he was ready for the challenge of finding out exactly what her involvement was – if any – with what he’d nicknamed the ‘Cottage Job’.

  The discarded painting pu
t a whole new spin on things and he’d called in forensics from Warrnambool to take a look. Well, they were going to be busy because now he was standing in the middle of another crime scene, this time in River’s End Heights.

  Alerted by a silent alarm installed in the new house, he’d arrived with sirens blaring, ready for action, his patrol car abandoned across the driveway. The front door was wide open, but there was nobody home. No perps. Nothing but what looked like a small explosion inside.

  Somebody had had a lot of fun. The new owners had begun moving in and their wide screen TVs, whitegoods, and glass coffee table were smashed. “What is it about frigging whitegoods?” he’d muttered as he stepped over broken glass.

  He took lots of photos, expecting backup from Green Bay any minute. Then the phone rang. At first, he couldn’t make out any words because the man on the line was screaming.

  “You’ve got to slow down. Who is it?” He tried twice before he got a coherent reply.

  “It’s John Jones. You’ve got to get to my house! Daphne is there with an intruder and I think he’s killing her!”

  The line died and Trev almost dropped the phone. Not Daphne! There couldn’t be a murder in River’s End. Not on his watch.

  ***

  Daphne ran like she had never run before. Bursting through the back door, she’d caught a glimpse of a man two gardens over. Jumping awkwardly into the third garden, he’d disappeared, but she knew where he was going. The road up to the mountains passed by the end of hers. She doubled back through her house and took off to the end of the street.

  She felt for her phone. Darn. It was on the floor in the dining room. With my precious things. Forcing the image of the destruction away, Daphne put all her energy into getting to that corner. Each step was torture in her unsuitable shoes. Nothing had ever encouraged her to go much faster than a brisk walk on a cold day, but now she wanted to catch that man. How dare he step foot in her home!

  Sweat poured down her face and her breath heaved in and out as she counted. Four houses to go. Three more. Two. There was the corner. And... wheels squealing, a dark blue sedan sped away. Daphne stopped, gasping for air, desperately disappointed.