Deadly Falls

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Charlotte stood near the kerb outside Octavia’s house. The paramedics were inside, doing their job. Marguerite was on her way, despite Sid telling her to stay home. And a few minutes ago, Kevin Murdoch arrived. She’d only ever seen him from a distance, at a public meeting he presided over. His brother, Terrance, was a local council member, and Kevin was Octavia’s man friend. He’d climbed out of his car as the paramedics carried her off, his eyes dazed.

Charlotte needed to find Rosie. Although the past few weeks had divided them, Rosie had known Octavia since high school, and this would devastate her.

The bookshop phone wasn’t answered and Charlotte checked her watch. Well before closing time. She dialled Rosie’s phone, which rang a few times before being answered with a quiet, “It’s true. Isn’t it?”

“Are you home?”

“Yes. I closed early. Everyone says she’s gone.”

“I’m on my way but I’m walking, so hold on. I’ll be there soon.”

After a final glance at the house, which was barely visible behind the trees and bushes, Charlotte crossed the road and hurried along the footpath. The humidity continued to rise and grey clouds approached across the top of the hills.

As grey as I feel.

Which was little. Not yet, anyway. Later, she’d unpack the events, the smells and sights in Octavia’s house, the living room, Glenys’ grief, and then the feelings would crush her if she wasn’t careful. For now, her focus was on helping Rosie deal with the terrible news.

It didn’t take long to reach Rosie’s house. She tapped, then opened the front door, expecting it to be unlocked. “Rosie?”

“Charlie?”

Charlotte followed her voice to the outdoor covered area.

Rosie’s wheelchair was at the table, a pile of magazines to one side. She looked up from an open photo album. “Would you believe, Octavia was once a brilliant runner? We both did track and field at school and I was good, but she was better. We used to team up in relays and won just about everything we entered despite limited coaching. She dreamed of building a place where young athletes could train.”

Charlotte sat beside Rosie and looked at the photographs. A very fit teenaged twosome smiled back, arms entwined and medals around their necks.

“I had no idea. Trev told me you were into diving but never mentioned this athletic mother of his.”

“He probably wouldn’t remember me talking about it. After high school, I moved to the city for university and met his father, my Graeme. It was only when I became pregnant that home beckoned, and I was lucky Graeme fell in love with the region as well.”

“What about Octavia. Did she leave and return?”

Rosie closed the photo album. She raised pain-filled eyes. “She married the school captain. Kingfisher Falls has always been her home. What happened to her, Charlie?”

“It appears she fell and struck her head on the hearth in the living room. It would have been instant, Rosie.”

“On the marble. Why would she fall though? She was healthy. Walked everywhere.” Rosie sighed. “Our birthdays are only days apart.”

Charlotte took her hand. “Until there’s an autopsy, we won’t know if she had some underlying problem that affected her balance.”

Or if she was pushed.

“Autopsy? Is there a chance she was…” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “murdered?”

Charlotte didn’t know how to answer. Something about the death bothered her but she wanted to look through the photos on her phone before jumping to conclusions.

“Charlie, you think it’s possible?”

“I don’t know. Nothing looked out of place or strange. There’s no reason to suspect anything. Not this early.”

The phone rang in the kitchen and Rosie went inside. Charlotte glanced at the magazines. All school yearbooks by the look of them. Reminiscing.

Charlotte turned a page, finding a photo of a young Rosie playing guitar. She bit her bottom lip as she closed the yearbook and ran a finger across the cover.

Rosie was on the phone. Charlotte followed her voice.

“I wish it wasn’t true, dear.” Rosie’s shoulders were slumped. “Charlie’s here, but I thank you for thinking of me. If anything, Glenys needs some support, I imagine.”

Mellow and Mayhem, Rosie’s cats, sat on the back of the sofa watching her. No doubt Mellow would make a beeline for her lap at some point as she was sweet and had an uncanny ability to know when a warm, furry body was required. Mayhem was less likely to do anything other than tell you off. But he had his nice moments as well.

“They have? Oh, how very generous and kind.”

Charlotte went to Rosie’s small but well stocked bar and made them both a gin and tonic. She doubted Rosie would object and she had an unusual need to take the edge off after the horrible afternoon.

“That’s so sweet of Doug and I won’t say no. Not that I want to eat right now, but…well, thank you, Esther.”

A moment later, Rosie finished the call and met Charlotte near the sofa with its one arm removed. She parked her wheelchair and slid herself onto the sofa. “I understand if you want to drink both of those, but darling, I would love one.” Tears filled her eyes for the first time since Charlotte arrived. “I think I’d like to make some toasts.”

“Do you know, I never asked if Kevin showed up.” Rosie stroked Mellow’s fur as the cat purred on her lap. Mayhem, predictably, was stretched out on the far end of the sofa.

“He did, but I was leaving. The poor man looked distraught. In shock, so I hope the paramedics checked him as well as Glenys.”

“I didn’t tell you. Glenys has gone to stay with the Forests.”

Charlotte’s jaw dropped. Glenys was one of the people accusing Darcy Forest of stealing the town’s Christmas trees last year, and only changed her mind when the real thieves were arrested. Her property was next door to Darcy’s Christmas Tree Farm. “What a sweet gesture.”

“The minute Abbie heard what happened, she made space for Glenys. Considering her baby is due any day, I am touched. To Abbie, Darcy, and Lachie Forest.” She raised her glass.

“And to new baby Forest when he or she makes their arrival.” Charlotte reached her glass out to touch Rosie’s with a satisfying ‘clink’.

They sipped. “Nice. You’ve got this mix down perfectly.” Rosie said. “How did Glenys know to go in the house? Was the door open?”

“Now, who’s the detective? I don’t know. Sid was taking a statement from her when I left, but I didn’t ask. She mentioned she’d tried to call for help using Octavia’s landline, but it wasn’t working.”

“Strange. That was the phone I spoke to her on earlier. Should we tell Sid?” Rosie asked.

“He has no clue, Rosie, none. Before coming to get me, he’d stomped all over the living room, maybe moved the…um, Octavia, contaminated everything. I understand Glenys maybe touching things because she’s not trained to deal with these things and would have been shocked. But he is trained.”

“He thinks it is accidental?”

“I imagine so. It took my best ‘Doctor Dean’ voice to get him to stay away from Octavia until the paramedics arrived. The idea of him in charge of an actual investigation…” she grimaced.

“To no need for investigations!” Rosie lifted her glass.

“Drink to that.”

Someone tapped on the front door.

“Oops, that was the other thing I forgot to tell you. Doug is sending us dinner. Would you mind getting the door?”

Dinner was the last thing on Charlotte’s mind. But she thanked the delivery driver and took the bag from him, the aroma of garlic and tomato making her stomach rumble. She unpacked two takeaway containers and a long, foil wrapped bread.

“Why has Doug done this?”

“He knew you would be exhausted, and I most likely wouldn’t bother to make food tonight. There’re stable tables in the cupboard to your left if you’d like to bring two over. I’d rather eat here, if you don’t mind the informality.”

Charlotte found the tables and brought them, and the food, to the living room. “I’ll get some cutlery.”

“Thank you, darling. And another drink.”

The food was delicious. Two pumpkin gnocchi and delectable garlic bread. “I had this the first time I went to Italia.” Charlotte mentioned between bites. “I told Bronnie, the waiter, how much I loved it.”

“One of my favourites as well. How sweet Doug is.” But Rosie pushed hers away half eaten. “I’ll keep it for tomorrow.” Her shoulders drooped.

Charlotte picked up both plates and headed for the kitchen. She put the remains of Rosie’s meal into the fridge, and packed hers back into the bag it came in.

“I should go home.”

“You are welcome to stay. But I can only imagine how you feel, darling.”

Charlotte sat beside Rosie and nodded. “I’m tired. Inside. I want to shower and sleep. Why don’t you take tomorrow off? I can manage.”

“I was about to suggest you do that.”

“Thank you, but I’m a believer in keeping to routines when there are upsets. Decide tomorrow, and if I see you, I see you.” She leaned over and kissed Rosie’s cheek. “I’m so sorry about Octavia.”

“Me too. Never had a chance to make things right and I’ll always regret it.”

Charlotte let herself into her apartment, closing and locking the door before turning on all the lights. She dwelt on Rosie’s words. She’d been with Rosie the day Octavia tore their long-standing relationship in two. Their teenage friendship was a thing of the past but when Charlotte first met Octavia a few weeks ago, there was still a mutual respect.

That was until the events leading up to Christmas created tension between many people in town, with sides taken and fingers pointed. Rosie tried to be the voice of reason for everyone, only to find herself turned on by Octavia and her then-closest friend, Marguerite. With a final declaration that Rosie’s shop would fail, Octavia had flounced out.

She’d said the same thing this morning on the phone. “I told you to expect to kiss your pathetic bookshop goodbye. Newsflash, Rose. It begins now.”

Newsflash, Octavia. We’re here for the long haul.

Charlotte exhaled. Whatever Octavia had said, or done, it didn’t matter now. Her lifeless body was in a morgue somewhere. Her close friends and family were grieving. Even some not so close people. She might have become a viper in recent times, but Octavia Morris had been a long-standing member of the Kingfisher Falls community and would be missed.

A long shower later, Charlotte curled up on the sofa—wrapped in her dressing gown—a cup of tea beside her. She scrolled through the images she’d taken this afternoon. At the first—a full shot of Octavia’s body—she drew her breath in, but then she forced the emotional response away.

Consider with impartiality. Otherwise, she’d be overwhelmed.

There were over one hundred images, not only of the body, but the living room and some from the adjoining kitchen. Both rooms were immaculate. Nothing on coffee tables or cushions out of place. Perhaps Octavia was house-proud. Or expecting guests.

Or there’d been a struggle, and someone tidied up.

With a shake of her head, Charlotte relegated that to the ‘not likely’ basket. There were several photographs just before Glenys had interrupted her, one of particular interest. Taken from above Octavia’s upper half, it focused on the back of her head and shoulders. Octavia’s silver hair was thinning a little, not that you’d notice under normal circumstances. But from this angle, there was discolouration through the silver.

Charlotte zoomed in. It might be the light in the room. Except, the more she zoomed in and out, the more obvious the difference was. Did Octavia have a birthmark on her skull? It was near the base of her skull and ran horizontally. She sent the image to her laptop.

As the ambulance had arrived, she’d run back to the kitchen to look for…well, she didn’t know what. Again, a perfect, tidy room. The only sign of life was a teapot on the side of the sink. She’d glanced inside. Half empty, but cold. And no cups. Something made her open the dishwasher, which was partly packed. Including two matching cups and saucers. Pretty ones in the same flowery pattern as the teapot.

She’d taken photos, not knowing why, and closed the dishwasher as voices approached. By the time Sid led two paramedics in, Charlotte was back with Glenys.

The quality of these photos wasn’t as good but one of the cups caught her interest. Both cups had lipstick marks on the rims. One was the light mauve Octavia favoured. Charlotte had seen it on her so many times. But the other?

Bright orange.

Charlotte opened her laptop and found the image of Octavia’s head. On the large screen it was obvious. This was no birthmark. Although the abrupt connection between her forehead and the marble hearth probably ended Octavia’s life, she hadn’t simply tripped.

There was a distinct mark on the back of her skull. A long, reddish mark.