“Daphne! Oh my God, doll!” John yelled from the other corner. He ran across without looking, straight to Daphne, and flung his arms around her. They grasped onto each other. “I thought... I though he killed you.” John stammered.
Pulling herself away to look at him, Daphne’s mouth fell open at the tears on his face. “No, love. I’m okay.” She kissed him. “Don’t cry, love. Please don’t.” She reached into his pocket and found a handkerchief, using it to dry his eyes. He took it from her and blew his nose.
Sirens approached.
“Is that Trev?”
“I thought you were being murdered.”
“Oh. I dropped the phone when I chased him.”
“You did what?” John stared at Daphne with open admiration. “Did you see who it was?”
“No. But there would have been a murder if I’d caught him!”
John took her hand and they hurried back to the house, arriving at the same time Trev screamed to a halt outside the house. He leapt out of his car with an expression of utter relief when he saw Daphne. “Daphne! You’re okay!”
“I couldn’t catch him, Trev. He took off toward the mountains in a dark blue big car. You might catch up—”
“Don’t touch anything!” Trev dived back into the patrol car, and with sirens blaring, did a U-turn.
John turned to Daphne, still holding her hand. “We might go and see what he took.”
“I don’t think he stole anything.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He’s a vandal. Just... breaks things.” Her voice faltered.
“What things? Doll? Do you want to stay outside?”
Yes, she did, but no way was she letting her husband see that room alone. Chin up, she led him back into the house.
***
Deep in bushes behind an empty house, Rupert watched the patrol car speed past. Thank goodness he’d spotted this driveway before running out of options. He was done. No more risking himself for his selfish employers. Things were getting hot in town and he was sure that woman saw his car.
He nosed back onto the road to River’s End, worried he’d see the police car in his rear vision mirror. Ingrid had promised him empty houses. The front door opening and Daphne calling out had almost given him heart failure. Another few seconds and he’d have been heading for jail now.
He retraced his route as far as town, then took a right past the jewellery store. The old man who owned it sat on a bench outside. George. According to Ingrid, George virtually ran local council, so why she hadn’t targeted him was a mystery. Martin Blake came out of the store and sat beside him.
He followed the track to the car park at Willow Bay, cursing when he saw the Lotus. What the hell was she doing here? And he couldn’t just turn around because the top was down and Christie was in the car. As he parked, he pushed the small crowbar and balaclava under his seat.
Christie stared at him from the Lotus. No smile, a worried crease marring her pretty face. Her hands were on the steering wheel but the motor was off.
“Christie, I’m so glad I found you!” Rupert’s tone of sympathy helped him fake a smile. “Someone said they saw you go this way and I just hoped you might be here.”
“Who did?”
“Dunno, someone in town. I heard about that awful break-in at the cottage this morning. Wanted to see if there’s anything I can do to help? I’ve got a mate who sells whitegoods and stuff. Get you some replacements.”
“That’s kind, Rupert, but no need. How do you know what happened? I thought you were back in Melbourne.”
Rupert shuffled his feet. “Starting the new job next week and I’m still looking for a home for us. Too far to commute and don’t want to be away from Lucy for days at a time. So, I thought I’d take another look in that new estate and see if I can talk her into something.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Still have our hearts set on that cottage of yours.”
“In spite of someone breaking into it? Aren’t you worried about leaving your family up there alone?”
“My dad will move in as well. We’ll get him a granny flat once bubba comes. So, what do you say?”
“What happened to your face?”
His hand flew to the cut on his cheek. It was bleeding again. “Shaving accident. Embarrassing really. So, will you sell to me?”
Christie started the motor. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s wonderful! So, you’ll let Daphne know?” He stepped back as Christie put the Lotus in reverse.
“Sure.”
He watched her until the Lotus rumbled out of sight. At least he had something for his masters. Damn them though if they were going to get him to do their work anymore. And nobody was going to pin those break-ins on him. He pulled the crowbar out and spent a few moments wiping it clean with the balaclava, then tossed both into the bushes.
***
Trev drove back to town, disappointed he’d lost the car. Ahead of him, a mid-sized sedan turned from a side road and drifted across its lane. The car was green, but the driving was erratic enough for Trev to put his lights on. Maybe in her panic, Daphne had got it wrong.
The car pulled over, almost straight into a ditch. Parked behind it, lights on, Trev climbed out and, hand on holster, approached the driver’s side. The door flew open and a woman stepped out.
“Hold it there, ma’am.”
She froze, hands in the air and horror on her face. Trailing from one hand was a road map, which she dropped. Trev watched it float to the ground, then he glanced back to her face. Tears streaked down her face, making gorgeous blue eyes puffy. Blond, shoulder-length hair was unbrushed, and her dress might have been slept in.
“Hey, lower your hands,” Trev relaxed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m lost, officer.”
“Then let’s get you going in the right direction. Where are you headed?” He scooped up the map and offered it to her. Up close, she was pretty, really pretty, but so upset. “What’s your name?”
“Charlotte Dean. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t driving very well, was I?” She took the map.
“Just don’t try reading maps and driving at the same time. Okay?”
She nodded. “I’m looking for Palmerston House.”
Trev smiled. “I’m heading that way, so you follow behind and we’ll get you there. Are you fine to drive?” Charlotte clearly was no threat to River’s End, apart from her driving.
“Thank you...?”
“Senior Constable Trevor Sibbritt. Just Trev will do. Right then, I’ll go in front and we’ll have you there in no time.”
He waited for her to get back into her car, then returned to his. At least he’d be able to help one person today. As for the rest of the problems, well, only time would tell.
Chapter Thirty-four
Angus met Christie on the front steps of Palmerston House. “This town is as bad as Melbourne! The kettle is on and Elizabeth is settling a guest in, so come and let me update you.”
“Update me on what?”
“There have been two more break-ins. One being Daphne and John Jones’ place.”
Christie stopped dead, hand over her mouth.
“She’s fine, but she apparently disturbed the intruder. He got away though.”
“I should go and see her.”
“No. You should have a cup of coffee and sit for a while. That nice policeman said you’d want to help but he has to do his job first.” Angus kept walking toward the kitchen, and Christie trotted after him.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Would you like some cake? Elizabeth made a delicious gingerbread this morning.” He collected cups from a cupboard.
“No, but thanks. I’m sure it is lovely.” She perched on the edge of the table. “Can I help?”
“I saw that look. I’ll have you know that Elizabeth works too hard and it is a pleasure to give her a small break. Now, where would you like to have this? Elizabeth will be back soon, if you want
to wait.”
“Actually, I need some advice, Angus. From you.”
He shot her a glance. “What’s wrong? Is it about the cottage?”
“Today has just been awful.” Her phone rang. It was the third time Martin had called and once again, she rejected it.
“That was Martin, I saw his name come up. Why on earth not answer?” Angus stared at her in confusion, a cup in each hand. “Don’t tell me he is what you want advice about?”
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded, eyes wide.
“Let’s go sit under the old tree then.” Angus led the way.
***
Derek stood on the balcony of the apartment, staring at the marina below. Yachts. Lots of them. Why the hell hadn’t Christie told him she wanted one? He would have bought a decent boat with a captain and catering and all the comforts she deserved. He should have paid a bit more attention to her. But he’d always been generous. So many gifts and dinners. Trips away. Until it all fell apart with the death of her grandmother.
A key turned in the front door, which then swung open. Ingrid hurried in, closing and relocking the door behind herself.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Derek stalked inside.
Ingrid spun around in surprise, hand on heart. “God, you scared me! What are you doing here at this time of day?”
“None of your business. I’ll have my key back.” He held his hand out and Ingrid dropped it on his palm.
“Fine. But don’t expect me to knock. Or even come over anymore.” Ingrid went to the bar. “I just wanted somewhere to freshen up before coming to the office.”
“And what’s wrong with your place?”
“Have you heard from Rupert?” She poured herself a glass of brandy, then as an afterthought, one for Derek.
“Why are you changing the subject? Ingrid, what’s happened?” He picked his brandy up. “What have you done?”
“Nothing to concern yourself about, darling. Just arranged a little diversion to confuse the local police. But Rupert is getting difficult, as if he suddenly has a conscience. I’ve rung him at least five times since leaving that town and he doesn’t pick up.”
“Maybe he just doesn’t like you,” Derek sneered, taking out his phone. He dialled and Rupert answered.
“Update please.” He threw a look of contempt at Ingrid and she shrugged.
“Is she with you?”
“Why?”
“There’s a problem.”
Derek returned to the balcony, sliding the door closed behind himself. “Alright, she can’t hear. What problem?”
“I don’t know if it is her idea or yours, but breaking into other people’s houses nearly got me caught.”
Derek dropped onto a chair. “Go on.”
“The town is swimming in cop cars. I’m sure nobody saw me and everyone thinks I am who I said. But that Daphne Jones might have seen the car. And now Ingrid wants me to smash up the artist’s studio. You know, spread around the pain a bit.”
Sounded good to Derek. Pictures with gaping holes. Walls and floor splattered with oil paints. “When did she tell you to do that?”
“She’s left message after message. Threatening ones. Last time I checked, I work for you. Not her.”
“Erase those messages. Can you safely get out of town?”
“Not yet. And there’s something you should know. I ran into Christie and she was all upset. She said she’ll think about selling to me.”
Derek exhaled. Yes. He glanced around. He couldn’t see Ingrid. “That’s good, Rupert. Really good work. That bonus will be doubled the minute she cracks.”
“What if she doesn’t, boss?”
“If there’s nothing there for her anymore, then she will. Understand?”
“I don’t hurt people.”
“You’ll do what you’re told. Get that artist out of her life, one way or another.” Derek hung up and got to his feet. He flung the door open. “Ingrid! Where are you?”
***
“Tell me what to do.” Close to tears, Christie pleaded. “I don’t trust my judgement anymore.”
Angus sipped the last of his tea. He’d listened to every word she’d said and wanted to pick up a phone and tell Martin to get himself down here right away. Overwhelming sympathy filled him, but she was wrong.
“It isn’t my place to tell you what to do. And I believe you know the answers if you’d stop for a minute and think.”
“I’ve been thinking. My head is ready to explode from it!”
“Well it won’t explode so stop the melodrama and focus on what you really want. Instead of running away, why didn’t you simply go and ask Martin why he took that woman to the yacht?”
“Because...” She looked down at her hands, playing with the empty coffee cup. “I mean, what if I do and he says I can’t have Jasmine Sea anymore?”
“Why are you even thinking that way?” Angus put his hand over one of hers. “He loves you. Not in a destructive, controlling way like you might have experienced in the past, no, not at all like that. He loves you for who you are, even when you make mistakes.”
Christie looked up. “Like leaving the window unlocked?”
“And not telling him.”
“I didn’t want to upset him.”
Angus smiled as Christie’s expression softened. “Okay, so we’re as bad as each other.” Her mobile beeped with a message. She read it aloud. Randall and I will be at the lagoon at six. With dinner.
“And where will you be at six, Christie Oliver?” Angus stood up and stretched.
Christie got to her feet and threw her arms around him. “Thank you.”
“We all make mistakes. Wrong decisions that are sometimes based on a right motive. Talking, communication, that’s the way to sort things out. Well, one of the ways,” he grinned.
“Angus!”
“Come on. You might not have wanted gingerbread cake, but I do.”
***
One by one, the police left. First were the forensic officers, who now had to go to the house in the estate. Then the very sweet youngsters from Green Bay who’d offered to make tea for Daphne and sit with her whilst John went to close the office. He returned with Sylvia and her cake boxes, just as Trev said his goodbyes on the front steps.
“Oh, Sylvia, I completely forgot about those!” Daphne grabbed John’s hand as if they’d been apart for months.
“I’ll make more tomorrow and we can take fresh ones up to the cottage then.” Sylvia put them on the top step to give Daphne an uncharacteristic hug. “These are for you and John now.”
“Don’t know what to say.”
“Let’s go inside, doll,” John opened the door. “You look a bit pale.”
Daphne didn’t move. “You know, maybe we should sit out here for a bit. Have one of Sylvia’s pastries.”
“Or I could help clean up where the police have been – that fingerprint dust is messy. My shop’s closed for the day, so I’m here for you.” Sylvia stepped inside before Daphne could stop her. “Come on, we’ll get it done in no time.”
John kissed Daphne’s cheek. “Do you want to go for a walk? We can do this.”
“Of course not.” Daphne followed Sylvia, who went to the kitchen. John picked up the cake boxes and closed the door behind himself. Going past the dining room, he glanced inside, still shocked at the pointless destruction. All of Daphne’s special knick-knacks. The wedding china. Crystal she’d chosen when they bought the house. All in pieces.
“I’ll sweep it all up.” Daphne was beside John, carrying a dustpan and brush and a garbage bag. “If you can help Sylvia with some warm soapy water and a cloth?”
“Let me do this.”
“Don’t be silly.” With a big, forced smile, Daphne went in. “Just things, after all. But maybe we can get takeaway tonight? Once we’re done.”
“Sure. Good idea.” John watched Daphne open the garbage bag and hook it onto the back of a chair. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I
n the kitchen, Sylvia had already found cleaning items. John picked up the rubbish bin. “She’ll need this.”
“You help her, John. I’ll get the doors cleaned up then start on a sweep of the house. Just in case there’s glass. Go on.”
Nodding his thanks, he carried the bin to the dining room. Daphne worked methodically from one side of the table to the other, gently pushing the shards together.
“Here, doll, this will be easier and safer than the bag.”
“I did love that holiday in Tasmania. The plate with the Tasmanian Devil always made me smile.” She spoke with a sing-song voice. “And your mum had the best taste in china. And daughters-in-law of course.”
“Daph?”
“I recall how we had that little argument over whether to buy crystal or glass champagne flutes. I let you win, of course, because after all, they are just glasses.” She stopped and looked straight at John. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Just glasses.”
***
From part way up a tree on the far side of Martin’s property, Rupert watched the house and studio through binoculars. With a dog on the premises, he had to be extra careful to avoid being caught.
Martin had arrived home earlier with shopping bags. The dog ran around for a bit, but didn’t pick up Rupert’s scent. One thing he couldn’t do was outrun a dog. Nor most people, although he’d managed to stay ahead of Daphne.
At almost six, Martin left the house carrying a large backpack as well as what looked like folding plastic chairs and table. With the dog in tow, he disappeared down a track toward the beach.
Rupert scrambled down the tree and scurried across to the top of the track. By now, Martin was on the beach, well away from the house. He moved with purpose toward the jetty.
No matter what Derek said, no living thing would be harmed by his hands. Stuff, sure. But that was it. No real harm done that way. He checked the sliding door of the house. Locked. Well, that wasn’t his target anyway.
Having thrown the crowbar into the bushes at Willow Bay, he’d had to get creative and dug out the tyre jack from the car. He circled the studio, stopping periodically to stare in. Just paintings on easels and walls. What looked like part finished furniture, a coffee table perhaps. Sofa and bar. God, he could use a drink.
Jasmine Sea Page 18
