Deadly Secrets

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 that 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.