Deadly falls, p.1
Deadly Falls, page 1
DEADLY FALLS
CHARLOTTE DEAN MYSTERIES BOOK 2
PHILLIPA NEFRI CLARK
CONTENTS
Deadly Falls
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Next in the Series
About the Author
Copyright (C) 2020 Phillipa Nefri Clark
Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter
Published 2022 by Next Chapter
Edited by Nas Dean
Cover art by CoverMint
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.
To perseverance. When dreams seem out of reach, persevere. One by one, they will come to you.
DEADLY FALLS
“Help me! Help!”
Clinging to a post at the edge of the lookout, her body dangling over the side of the cliff, Charlotte Dean knew it was an almost sheer drop. And if she was lucky to miss the jutting rocks on the way down, the river would do little to cushion her fall.
She willed her aching fingers to stay gripped, but they hurt. Her shoulders screamed from holding her weight.
Think.
Charlotte looked up to her hands around the metal post. It was bolted into concrete and wasn’t about to come loose. Could she lift herself enough to get an arm around the post? She sucked in air and tightened the muscles in her forearms.
Up. Her gaze picked a spot above her hands. That’s where she had to be. Up.
Fire in her arms.
One. Big. Chin-up.
Pounding heart. All she could hear. Or was it the waterfall behind?
Her eyes levelled with the ground of the lookout. Her bag was there, its contents strewn across the lookout.
Rain began.
Her fingers slipping again, she forced her muscles to work harder than they’d ever worked. One elbow was over the edge, then the other. She rested on them for a long moment. If she let go one hand, she’d fall.
She leaned all her body weight forward and kicked the air. Just enough to get half her body to safety. Don’t let go. Not yet.
From the waist up, she was on solid ground again.
“Aaah!” She dragged one leg, then the other to the top. Forcing her fingers to the bottom of the post, she lay on her side.
“Well, what have we got here?”
No. Not you.
Charlotte released the post and rolled under the rail, back to the relative safety of the lookout. On all fours she crawled away from the edge through mud.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself on the wrong side of the railing, missy.” Sid stood cross-armed at the entrance to the path. To safety. “Couldn’t believe my ears when I heard a cry for help.”
“Keep…away.” Charlotte blinked the rain from her eyes, scanning the ground for a stick. Or anything. Any weapon.
“You don’t want to do that.” Sid sneered as he uncrossed his arms and put one hand on the police belt. On the holster of his gun. “Time to finish what we started.”
CHAPTER ONE
A FEW DAYS EARLIER
“He’s out there again.”
Charlotte joined Rosie at the window of the bookshop to watch Leading Senior Constable Sid Browne do a slow U-turn in his unit and cruise past. He stared in as he drove, window down, fingers tapping on the roof.
“Good. He’ll eventually run out of petrol.” Charlotte was more bemused than annoyed by the man’s odd behaviour. In the week since the bookshop reopened after the Christmas break, he’d been a regular passer-by. Sometimes in the patrol car, other times on foot.
“Well, if he wants to speak to us, he needs to walk through the door.” Rosie spun her wheelchair and headed behind the counter. “All this silliness is getting to me.”
Which is what Sid wants.
“I’ve been expecting him to demand a statement from Christmas Eve.” Charlotte went back to stocking shelves with the first shipment of books of the year. “If he wants the arrests to stick, he needs witness statements.”
Thanks to some help from Charlotte on Christmas Eve, Sid had arrested two young men on suspicion of burglary, property damage, and causing bodily harm. He’d taken credit for it, of course, but was keeping the town in the dark about the status of the case. And returned to his creepy habit of watching the bookshop.
“Perhaps Trev can find out what’s happening.” Rosie mused. “He’d have access to the police computer thingy.”
“Rosie. First of all, no. Second of all, I don’t think it’s called a police computer thingy, but I do know police can’t just check up on each other using it, even if one of them is your son. And finally. No.”
Rosie laughed.
“Stop laughing at me. You know I’m right. Anyway, I’m going to ask Sid what’s going on next time he goes past.”
“Then I really should call my son now and see what he can find out. He knows people.”
“I’m sure Trevor does know people, but there’s no point worrying him when he’s too far away to do anything.” Charlotte joined Rosie behind the counter. “You know, when I lived in River’s End, he talked about you a lot. Worried about you.”
Before moving to Kingfisher Falls just over a month ago, Charlotte spent most of the previous year living on the coast along the Great Ocean Road. Rosie’s son, Trev Sibbritt, ran the single police officer station in River’s End and had become her friend. Or something.
A sigh left Rosie’s lips and her smile faded. “I know he does. Which is why he only got the edited version of the events before he arrived for Christmas dinner. I didn’t tell him you were at risk, or Sid was such a pain.”
She busied herself on the computer and Charlotte took another armful of books to the back of the shop. Once or twice, Rosie had mentioned some past conflict between Sid and Trev, before he left for his first posting. But never any details, and even Trevor kept things close to his chest about it. He’d cautioned Charlotte to be wary of Sid, saying only that the man was power hungry.
He wasn’t the only one. This little town had a host of people wanting to control something, from a couple of corrupt councillors, to a dodgy shopkeeper, to the book club ladies. Speaking of which…
“Rosie, what will we do with all of those books?”
Without looking up, Rosie waved a hand at a pile behind the counter. “Those? I’d better confirm Octavia is not taking them.”
“Shall I phone her?”
Rosie looked up, over the top of her glasses. “Let me see. ‘Hello, Mrs Morris? This is Charlie—’ the phone slams down.”
“Or, it might be, ‘Mrs Morris, your books have arrived, and you have two days to pay for them before we bring in a debt collector.’ And then the phone slams down.” Charlotte did two thumbs up.
“You are a tough businesswoman. No wonder I like you so much. However, she doesn’t like you, and I think she doesn’t like me, but let’s give it a whirl.” Rosie picked up the phone. “We might need refreshments after this.”
Charlotte agreed. Dealing with Octavia Morris, or her best friend Marguerite Browne, who was Sid’s wife, was enough to drive anyone to drink. Even just extra strong coffee. She rested her arms on the counter to listen.
Rosie checked no customers were heading into the bookshop, then put the phone on speaker. It rang a few times, then Octavia answered in a pleasant tone.
“Hello, Octavia Morris speaking.”
“Octavia, it’s Rosie Sibbritt. How are you?”
Over the ensuing long silence, Rosie and Charlotte’s eyes met with a ‘knew it’.
“Of all the nerve. How do you think I am, Rose?” There it was, the hostility both women were accustomed to. “Publicly humiliated by you and that girl you employ at the town Christmas party. Ostracised.”
“Not quite how I recall. More along the lines of you and Marguerite attacking the Forest family for something they didn’t do. If you then chose to leave, it really wasn’t because anyone forced you away.”
How Rosie ever kept her temper with this woman was beyond Charlotte. Time and again, Octavia show ed a lack of manners and sometimes out and out nastiness, yet Rosie never got down to the same level.
“We both felt like outsiders. And it was your doing. What do you want?”
“The books you ordered for the book club are here.”
Charlotte held up two thumbs and mouthed ‘debt collector’.
Rosie rolled her eyes. “So, I’d appreciate you letting your members know so they can collect their copies.”
The laugh on the other end of the phone was unpleasant. “I told you to kiss your pathetic bookshop goodbye. Newsflash, Rose. It begins now.”
Click.
“O—kay.” Charlotte straightened. “I guess that means she’s not buying them.”
“She’s become impossible to reason with. There has to be another way of resolving this.”
“Oh, there’s always a means.” Charlotte grinned as she made her tone sinister. “It just depends how far you’re prepared to go.”
There was a gasp from outside. Veronica stood at the doorway, hand over her mouth and eyebrows raised in a horrified expression. Dressed in her customary short skirt and tank top, she wore bright orange high heels matching both her lipstick and an oversized handbag slung over a shoulder.
“Good morning, Veronica.” Rosie made no move to leave her place behind the counter. “How can we help?
“Unbelievable! I heard that with my own ears.”
With a huff, she spun away, almost tripping over her feet, and tapped off along the footpath.
“Um…what was that about?” Something bad was about to happen. She pushed away the sense of déjà vu.
“I imagine she overheard us. Now she’ll have us plotting Octavia’s demise.”
“That coffee?” Charlotte reached for some money. “Any chance I can order it with something stronger in it?”
Glenys Lane hobbled into the bookshop, leaning on her walking cane. Charlotte was alone unpacking another box of books. Rosie had gone out to have lunch with Lewis, her friend who owned the homewares shop.
“He’s closing for a whole hour so we can sit under the trees.” Rosie had said. “He never closes his shop and when I was running this place alone, I didn’t either. So, this is nice.”
It was nice. Lewis, a widower of many years, was a delightful man who kept asking Rosie out, so Charlotte was all for their blossoming ‘friendship’. Even Trev approved.
“Mrs Lane. How is your knee?”
“Glenys, dear. I think you should call me that.”
“Thank you.”
Glenys hooked her timber cane over the top of the counter and leaned her hands on the top, letting them take her weight. “I’m considering selling up.”
“You are?”
“There’s nothing here for me. Not since Fred passed away. Well, I had the book club, but Octavia and Marguerite are running it now and I don’t feel welcome.”
“But you began the book club.”
“Until they voted me out. All things change, don’t they? Oh, those are the books we ordered.” She glanced past Charlotte to the back counter where Rosie had left them. “Octavia found a supply online and the members had no say in it. I am so sorry about this.”
“We’ll work it out.” Charlotte waved a hand.
“Octavia should pay for them.”
“Rosie already asked her to but she…well, she laughed at her.”
Glenys gazed at her hands. “Rosie deserves better. I will tell Octavia to apologise.” She raised her head with a small huff. “I might walk up there now while my car’s being serviced and have a nice chat.”
“There’s no need, Glenys. Please don’t put yourself out.”
But Glenys had her cane in hand and off she went. Hopefully, the ladies would make up rather than continue the cold standoff since the Christmas Eve street party. The moment Glenys took a stand on behalf of the Forest family, Octavia and Marguerite had turned their backs on the woman who’d been their close friend for so long.
“Was that Glenys?” Rosie wheeled back in, removing the straw hat she’d donned before leaving. Perspiration streaked her makeup which was not surprising with the day hot even by mid-summer standards and a rapid rise in humidity heralding a storm.
“She spotted the book club books and will talk to Octavia. I said not to, but she was insistent.”
“Oh dear. Something tells me that won’t be a pleasant discussion. I’m not holding out much hope she’ll succeed, so let’s make a nice window display of the books and perhaps we should add a nice fat discount.” Rosie chuckled to herself.
“You are one bad woman.” Octavia could learn from Rosie’s can-do approach to everything. That’s if the grumpy woman could even still learn.
Charlotte and Rosie had customers as a police siren approached. Everyone stopped talking and gravitated to the front of the book shop as Sid’s patrol car screeched to a haphazard halt outside.
Sid climbed out and waved his arms as he puffed his way to the door. “Missy!”
“Oh, what now?” Charlotte grumbled. “I’m here.”
“You’re a doctor.”
“Psychiatrist, but—”
“No buts. Grab your bag. Need help.” He leaned against the doorway, panting.
“Do you want an ambulance?” Rosie asked.
“Not me. Please, Charlotte. Grab your bag and come with me.”
He never called Charlotte by name. “Okay, but why?”
“It’s Octavia. I think she’s dead.”
CHAPTER TWO
Charlotte ran for the back door even as the others clamoured around Sid for information. She hurtled up the steps, key at the ready. Her long unused medical kit was in a cupboard and it took a moment to dig it out. On her way to the door she grabbed her phone and wallet.
None of it made sense. What happened to Octavia? Why was Sid here instead of with her? And what about an ambulance?
“Quick, darling. Sid’s waiting.” Rosie called as Charlotte returned. “Call me as soon as you know something.” Her face was white.
“I will.”
The motor was on and the passenger door open, and Charlotte slid in and closed it.
“Seatbelt.” Sid muttered as he turned the patrol car in the opposite direction and floored it.
“Tell me what you know.” Charlotte clicked the seatbelt and looked for something to hold onto. Unlike Trev’s police car, which was immaculate and filled with the latest equipment, Sid’s was disgusting. Crumbled chocolate wrappers and squashed drink cans were beneath her feet and the stench from his cigarette habit made her want to throw up. The insides of the windows were filthy, and the radio blared country music.
“I think she’s dead.”
“You said that. Is an ambulance on its way?”
“I’m not stupid. Called it first but half an hour away. The real doctor is on an emergency, so you have to do. You can do stuff?”
“Medical degree says so.”
The patrol car sped through the roundabout, wheels bumping over the central gutters. Why did Sid think it safe to drive like this, sirens or not? Then, he turned down the road toward Veronica’s garden centre. Charlotte had walked along here a couple of times. The homes were large and set in big gardens.
“I was heading to town after a patrol. Glenys was waving madly from the grass verge outside Octavia’s house. Ran inside and felt for but couldn’t find…you know.” His voice faltered.
“A pulse? Any idea what happened? Fall?”
“What makes you think that?” Charlotte saw him shooting a look at her through his beady eyes.
