Deadly secrets, p.1
Deadly Secrets, page 1
DEADLY SECRETS
CHARLOTTE DEAN MYSTERIES BOOK 3
PHILLIPA NEFRI CLARK
CONTENTS
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
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
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.
For Charlotte and every person who overcomes their past to face the future with hope
CHAPTER ONE
The top of the falls offered a bleak outlook so early in the morning. It was the beginning of her first winter in Kingfisher Falls. Light wind collected the chill from the river, and shivering, Charlotte gathered her trench coat around her neck. Heavy mist covered the pool below, rising to the lookout in the distance. The tallest trees poked through the swirling whiteness, peppering it with strange shapes.
She’d stood here for a while—since what passed for dawn. This spot beside the top of the waterfall still called her. And rather than the trek down difficult terrain then up a long and tricky set of broken steps, Charlotte had discovered a new path home.
Earlier this year she’d had a scare at this spot and ran away along the river as it rushed to the falls. She’d not known where it led but noticed a narrow path back to the main road. Since finding the back gate in her garden, she’d uncovered lots of new tracks and trails. One wound through the corner of bushland to meet the river. Much quicker and less exhausting. And as safe as any other trail around Kingfisher Falls.
She turned for home. This path was pretty with early sunlight filtering through the canopy of ghost gums to sparkle on the slow running water. She passed the turn off to the main road. Home was a fast-five-minute walk. But it was through dense bushland once the river veered away. And when the undergrowth closed in, as always, a shiver went up Charlotte’s spine.
There are no bunyips in here!
Since her first view of this sprawling tract of bush a few months ago, something kept Charlotte from venturing too far in. She’d teased herself about the mythical Australian creature more than once, yet the fear lingered, and she hurried.
An internet search of the area once showed her the reach of the land. Many hectares of native trees and bushes but little in the way of walking tracks, except around the perimeter. According to signage around the land, it was owned by the Kingfisher Falls Shire Council and it wasn’t designated as anything other than shire land. Not as a park, or recreation area. Few locals used it, although Charlotte sometimes came across people walking their dogs.
The trees cleared as the path joined a wide, rutted track. A few hundred metres further and the back of the bookshop came into view. Charlotte stopped for a moment, her attention on the window from her upstairs apartment overlooking the bushland. In the months she’d lived there, she’d never seen the bushland from the room thanks to a wardrobe blocking the window. Today this would change. Trev was dropping by to help her move it. With a smile, Charlotte got going, letting herself into the garden through the back gate and locking it.
After a shower and coffee, Charlotte went food shopping. If Trev was kind enough to give her a hand, then she’d make lunch for him. Not the most confident cook, she’d taken a couple of lessons over autumn with Doug, chef and part owner of the local Italian restaurant, Italia. Doug, along with his wife, Esther, who owned a women’s clothes shop in town were her friends now.
She browsed the delicatessen department, frowning as she deciphered the scrawl of her handwriting when she’d made a list before her walk.
Never write until after coffee, Charlie.
What she planned was a simple pizza made from scratch, topped with a handful of ingredients. One was bocconcini cheese.
“What would you like, love?” On the other side of the counter, Maryanne, the deli assistant slid on a pair of gloves. “Your usual chilli stuffed olives?”
“Not what I had in mind, but yes, please, and then—”
“Excuse me! I was waiting.”
Charlotte and Maryanne turned to the woman who’d interrupted. She hadn’t been there a moment ago. With unruly long red hair and a voluminous skirt touching the ground in bright purple, she would have been hard to miss.
“Please, go ahead. I’m still browsing.” Charlotte smiled at Maryanne, then the other woman, who didn’t even meet her eyes.
Harmony Montgomery. She’d moved into town earlier in the year and opened a shop down the street and around the corner from the bookshop. Harmony’s House of Mystique. A fortune teller, or something of the kind. Not something of interest to Charlotte. Their paths hadn’t crossed until now, although Harmony made her presence felt around town by stopping people on the streets to give them a card to redeem for a free reading.
It was an ongoing debate between Charlotte and her boss, Rosie, who was curious. “Don’t waste your money.” Charlotte had cautioned more than once.
“But the first one is free.”
“Then don’t waste your time.”
“Just a bit of fun.” Rosie would grumble.
Charlotte knew sooner or later Rosie would end up doing what she wanted, but it grated on her nerves. She was facts based and struggled with the idea of what she considered fake promises.
Maryanne handed a wrapped parcel to Harmony with a friendly, “Is there something else?”
The other woman shook her head as she almost snatched the parcel and walked away. But then she did an abrupt about face and reached a card over the counter with something like a smile forced on her face. “How rude I must sound. Please, accept a free reading at your convenience.”
This time she left and once she was out of sight, Charlotte glanced at Maryanne, who turned the card in her fingers before tucking it into a pocket and changing her gloves.
“I’m sure you were first Charlotte, so sorry about that.”
“It really doesn’t worry me.”
“She’s a little bit…full on. Must be her connection with the other side. Now, olives.”
There’d been no point discussing Harmony Montgomery further, not when Maryanne’s beliefs differed from hers. Personal beliefs were tricky. One of the biggest obstacles for a psychiatrist to overcome.
Which you no longer are.
Not entirely true. As long as she paid her dues and complied with the requirements, she was a psychiatrist. So far, she’d hung onto it. Afraid to let it go. But afraid to live it again. Charlotte pounded the pizza dough. She loved the bookshop. Thump. And intended to buy it when Rosie was ready to sell. Thump. Thump.
Charlotte covered the dough and left it on a side table behind glass where the sun would warm it enough to do its thing. She made a coffee and took it out to the balcony.
The day was pleasant now. Kingfisher Falls had enjoyed a long autumn and how beautiful a season it was. The last of the leaved deciduous trees decorated the valley and hills with gold and red and purple. Although the evenings came faster and were cooler, the days still offered enough warmth to enjoy the outside.
Elbows on the railing, Charlotte held her cup between her palms and watched the street below. Not much happened on Sundays. Traffic in the shape of cars and pedestrians wandered to the local churches, or cafés, or both. Families window shopped as they headed to the parks. A peaceful and sleepy day.
Since the events earlier in the year, the town had resumed its normal routine. No murders, or attempted kidnapping. No old ladies with evil intent, or younger ones, for th at matter. Her little town was again a sweet and safe haven. If only she could sort herself out. The conflict inside was more than whether to keep her licence. It revolved around her mother’s illness and a nagging worry of her own future health.
It mattered now. More than ever, thanks to a man named Trevor Sibbritt.
CHAPTER TWO
Trev climbed the stairs to Charlotte’s door two at a time.
He waited a moment before knocking, running a hand through his short hair, and taking off his sunglasses. Then, he tapped.
The door swung inward. “Hey.” Charlie held it open as he entered, then closed it behind them both.
He sniffed the air and his mouth watered. Whatever was cooking was good. Garlic and basil wafted his way and his stomach rumbled. Quietly, he hoped.
“Thanks so much for helping with this.” Charlotte disappeared around the corner and he left his sunglasses on the counter and followed. She was in the bedroom at the back of the apartment. The room was large and under furnished with only a narrow old bed along one wall, and the wardrobe—his target—blocking the window.
“It’s a big piece of furniture.”
“So, I’ll ask someone stronger?” she grinned.
“Hysterical. I just don’t want you hurt.”
“Then grab an end.”
If nothing else, Charlotte was an optimist. She believed they could move this thing without help.
The apartment was once the home of the family who built the building and ran the downstairs as a bakery until his parents bought it and turned it into the bookshop. Since then, there’d been various tenants renting the place, but this wardrobe was old. Probably an original piece left behind with the sale.
And heavy. It took them ten minutes to move it. Bit by bit. More push than lift. But once the wardrobe was against the wall, he joined Charlotte at the liberated window. Panting. A bit.
Covered in grime and spiderwebs, the window still flooded the room with daylight. Charlotte brushed a web aside and worked on the lock without success. “Darn. Would you have a go and I’ll get a brush and pan.”
By the time she returned with an assortment of cleaners, the window was wide open. It slid across and Trev blew dust out of the runners, wishing he hadn’t at the cloud of particles. “Think I made it worse.”
“I’ll do a proper clean in here later but will just move some of these…” she began sweeping away the long-abandoned webs, “so we can see out without them sticking to us.”
“Like this?” Trev extracted a cobweb from a strand of her hair. “Not a big issue for me as such.”
Charlotte stopped sweeping, her head tilting as she ran her eyes over his head. “Nothing could hide in such short hair.”
“What smells so good?”
Her eyes widened and she sniffed the air. “Oh, I’d better turn the oven off.” And she was gone again.
Trev finished cleaning around the window frame. He glanced around the room. It needed some love. Some cracks filled and new paint would go a long way. Updated furniture. The old bed was in poor condition beneath a large cardboard box. He’d noticed it before.
The only other time he’d been in here in years was to look at a corkboard Charlotte hid, one with her list of clues around the death of Octavia Morris. And his mood wasn’t good then.
A pile of Christmas cards sat on top of whatever else was in there. He picked up the top one. A beautiful handmade card.
“Oh. Um, here, I’ll put that away.” Charlotte hurried in and took the card from his fingers. Her face held the serious, slightly anxious expression he’d come to recognise. This box was related to her past. She slid the card away and folded the flaps over the contents.
“So, is lunch burnt?”
“Come and find out.”
Charlotte waited for Trev to bite into a slice of pizza, holding her breath as he chewed, not giving anything away. They sat on the balcony with iced tea and the pizza between them. She wasn’t going to eat until he gave her a hint of its palatability.
He swallowed. “Did you lace this with something?”
“Sure. I always poison people I invite over.”
“You’re not eating it.” He nodded to her plate. “Getting bored without any mysteries to solve, so creating your own?”
“By murdering the new police officer in town. Who happens to be the adored son of the woman I work for and love to bits.” Charlotte picked up a slice. “Where would I hide your body?”
“In the woods. And this is fantastic.” Trev took another bite and winked.
It wasn’t bad. The crust might have been a fraction thinner but tasted good. And the toppings were yum. Bocconcini, semi dried tomatoes, garlic, and basil from the garden. Yes, her own herbs were coming along as well as a selection of vegetables. Next time, she’d create something more ambitious and use more of her home grown produce. Next time.
“What’s the smile for?” Trev asked.
Being happy? Knowing you live here in Kingfisher Falls now? And like my pizza.
“Nothing really.”
The sparkle in Trev’s eyes told her he didn’t believe her.
“I can’t understand why anyone would deliberately cover this view!” Charlotte finished cleaning the window in the back bedroom and tossed her cloth into the bucket of soapy water. “It makes no sense.”
“Stopped trying to work out why people do things a long time ago.” Trev leaned out of the window to peer down. “Garden looks pretty. Lots of vegies growing.”
Charlotte joined him. “Carrots. Lettuce in two varieties. I’ll put rocket in. Some beetroot. And look at the basil and rosemary!”
“Always enjoyed my garden in River’s End.” Trev stepped back. “Hope it gives the next incumbent some pleasure.”
“I’m sure Rosie is happy to share her garden with you.”
“And I’m enjoying being home. But it’ll be good to find my own place again.”
“You could buy Octavia’s mansion.” Charlotte kept her face straight. “Or there is Glenys Lane’s place. I hear that’s going on the market to pay her legal fees.”
“Bit too spooky up there for me. Actually, both are too creepy. Good thing you’re not a real estate agent.” He glanced at his watch. “Sorry. Speaking of Mum, we have a shopping date. Apparently, I need new sheets and blankets.”
He headed for the door, giving Charlotte a much-needed moment to control a sudden rush of heat to her face. She’d once slept at Rosie’s in the room always kept ready for Trev’s visits. The sheets were fresh, yet his scent had lingered on the soft cotton.
In your mind!
“Where are you shopping?” She pulled herself together and followed. “Can’t imagine there’s too many places close by.”
“She has her heart set on Highpoint. There’s a place there she likes. About a forty-minute drive, so I’d better get a move on. Unless you’d like to come along?”
“Tempting. Thanks, but I might give the bedroom a full clean and get an idea of how to jazz it up a bit. For the next shopping trip.”
Trev opened his arms and Charlotte nestled against him for a moment. “Thanks for helping me.”
“Pleasure. And lunch was lovely, Charlie.” He released her and reached for his sunglasses. “Enjoy cleaning.”
“Sure. Love to clean. Best. Thing. Ever.” Charlotte pushed the bucket away and closed the wardrobe door. Whoever once lived here might never have cleaned the inside of this heavy timber unit. But now it was done and after two hours working non-stop, so was Charlotte.
