Charlotte Dean Mysteries Collection

Chapter 8

“I hope you don’t think this town is overrun with mean people.” Rosie handed books to Charlotte from the counter, where she was unpacking a delivery. “And most of the book club ladies are nice. I promise.”

“Hm. Let’s see.” Arms filled, Charlotte tried and failed to count her fingers. “The meanies so far are Mrs Morris, Mrs Browne, and Mr Browne.”

“Senior Constable Browne to you.” Rosie grinned.

“Not in tracksuit pants and singlet. He’s just good old Sid.” She glanced around to make sure they were alone. “How does he have the job instead of someone like…”

“Trev?” The smile faded and Rosie busied herself. “He’s been here a long time and finds a way to stay firmly entrenched.”

“But we’re not a country where local politics plays a role in choosing the police. Surely there’s been enough complaints to have him removed?”

“Most of us just avoid him. Once you’ve put these on the shelves, please take some money from petty cash and run over to the cakeshop. I think a selection of pastries might cheer up poor Esther.”

All morning, Rosie and Charlotte had taken turns checking outside on the progress around the boutique. Much earlier, from the safety of the balcony, tea in hand, Charlotte had seen Esther and a short, balding man that Rosie later assured her was her husband, arrive. Esther had stood on the road, hands over her mouth until her husband wrapped his arms around her. At least she’d had another person there to keep Sid off her back.

As a glass company installed a new window, a car with a security logo had arrived. Once it left, Rosie said it was time to offer some sympathy and comfort.

“I’m okay to stay here if you’d like to go, Rosie.”

“Actually, that would be good, if you’re sure?”

Of course, the minute Rosie left, customers filled the shop. Charlotte darted between people with a word here, a book recommendation there, checking everyone was fine before starting over again. It was fun. Frantic but fun.

“Now, how may I assist?” Charlotte was aware of someone in the back of the shop but only reached them as they turned around. “Senior Constable Browne. And you are in the mystery and thrillers section!”

“I don’t read.”

“That’s a shame. I have a new true crime book that is heavy on procedure—”

“I’m here to discuss the break in.”

Charlotte glanced around the shop. They were alone. Even though Sid wore a police uniform now, Charlotte was uncomfortable. Something about the way he stared, the slight smirk, unnerved her.

“Happy to help, but if customers come in, I’ll need to attend to them.”

He pulled out a notebook, ran his thumb over a white-coated tongue, and flicked to a blank page. “I’ll need your full name, address, date of birth, previous address—”

“No. I’m merely a person who heard a noise and then saw a car. I am not involved with the break in. My name is Charlotte Dean, and I live upstairs.” She raised her chin, eyes steady.

“I think I’ll decide what information I want, missy.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Senior Constable, so what questions do you have?”

Sid’s beady eyes narrowed, and his face reddened from the neck up. He snapped his notebook shut. “Don’t make an enemy of me.”

“Hello, Sid.” Rosie called from the doorway. “You look a bit hot and bothered.”

He turned to go, then paused. “I’m going to find out what your story is. Missy.” He sneered.

Charlotte kept her back straight until he was out of the shop, then she took a deep breath. She folded her arms, so Rosie wouldn’t see her hands shake. “Well, he is a charmer.”

A coffee and delicious pastry later, Charlotte had stopped fuming. Or at least, she’d relegated the powerful emotions to her ‘later’ mental file.

“Does he call every woman ‘missy’?” she wiped her fingers on a napkin.

“No. But he generally finds something derogatory. We tend to ignore it, like you did. May I have that cupcake? I am ravenous!”

Charlotte pushed the box across. “Thanks for these. I’m sure Esther was touched with the box you got her.”

“She’s rattled, Charlie. And who can blame her? I can’t recall crime like that…well, not for a long time. I wish Sid took it seriously.”

“Yup. Not a question about the make or colour of the ute. Much more interested in my previous employment.”

Rosie finished a mouthful, her expression annoyed. “None of his business. You’re going to be a local, so he can take his questions and—”

“Rosie!” Charlotte giggled. “It’s okay, I can handle him.”

But could she? What if he did dig around in her past, particularly back to her life in Queensland? There were things she wasn’t proud of, and whilst she’d never broken the law, some people believed she’d done something just as bad. Probably they were correct.

“Where’s that smile? That doughnut won’t eat itself.”

With a fake sigh, Charlotte picked it up and looked at it from every angle. “Your son once asked me if I was a runner.”

“Did he now?”

“I scoffed. Running requires a commitment to pain I just can’t find. But…” she moved the doughnut close to her lips. “Many more of these and I’ll have to take it up.”

“He’ll be thrilled. Give him yet another thing in common with you.” Rosie laughed as Charlotte almost choked on her bite of yumminess. “Have another. I’ll go and buy more.”

She might have joked around at the time, but the memory of the whole conversation with Trev followed Charlotte around all afternoon. She remembered it so well.

It was the day before the wedding of her best friend, Christie. Charlotte was at the end of the jetty in River’s End, a place most people seemed to gravitate to when they wanted to think. Or propose. Even break up.

She’d sat there for a while, reading, but also gazing at the ocean as the smell of sea air filled her senses. Trev was running on the beach. He’d gone up and down a couple of times before spotting her. Or at least, that’s what she thought. They hadn’t seen each other since getting back from visiting Rosie, and the series of problems he’d had to solve.

He’d stepped onto the jetty and stopped. Perhaps he didn’t want to intrude.

“It’s a public jetty.” she called over her shoulder. A moment later, he was beside her. They did some small talk and she’d tried not to focus on his good physique.

Trev wriggled into a T-shirt and asked her if she was a runner.

“Not unless I have somewhere urgent to go to.” She wanted him to believe that was the only time, but she did run sometimes. When things got too hard.

“You look like you do. Run.” He said.

“Hot and sweaty? I’m teasing.” She’d replied. “I have lucky genes. At least where body shape is concerned.”

“What about the rest of your genes?” his question was innocent, banter, but it cut deep in a part of her she kept from herself, let alone anyone else. He hadn’t noticed, but her fingers had gone straight to the elasticized bracelet she wore, worrying at it rather than say the wrong thing.

She’d changed the subject and things got awkward. They’d walked along the river that went through a rift in the cliffs. As they’d reached the road, Trev had found something to say. As if trying to put things right that really couldn’t be.

“I spoke to Mum last night. She said to pass on her regards.”

And that was when it hit her. What could be better than starting over because she wanted to, not because she was running away?

She’d asked about Rosie’s bookshop being online. A thousand ideas flooded her mind to make it competitive in a market dominated by the big box stores. The more she talked about it, her enthusiasm rising, the more crestfallen Trev seemed.

“Are you okay?” she’d finally asked. “Does it make you sad talking about this?”

He’d encouraged her to follow her heart. It wasn’t as though they were together, or even dating. But there was a certain something, a bond of sorts. And she missed him.

Whatever would he think about Sid?