Deadly Secrets

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Charlotte scanned the area around her. The flowers in the wreath looked so fresh…what if the person who’d laid them was close?

How old was the grave? Assuming it was a grave and not a prop for a photo shoot or some prank.

It is a grave.

All was quiet. Not even birdsong reached her ears. She dialled Trev, keeping one eye on the way she’d walked in.

“I hope you are calling with a reason for me to stop shopping.” Trev answered. Shopping mall music played in the background and a child screamed.

Rosie’s voice echoed through the phone. “Don’t believe him. He is having a wonderful time, darling.”

“Hi Rosie.”

“Charlie says hi. You finish browsing, Mum, and I’ll be right back.” A moment later, the music quietened a little. “Sorry. Found an exit. What’s up?”

“I went for a bit of a walk.”

“Ri…ght.”

How to explain?

“I closed the window upstairs and saw a path. One with flowers. So, I followed it and now I’m here.”

There was a pause from Trev. He must be reconsidering his decision to answer the phone.

“Anyway, there is a point. And I don’t know what to do but I imagine phoning a police officer about a grave is a good start.”

“Sorry? I know it’s a bit noisy here, but I thought you said a grave.”

“Oh, didn’t I say that first?”

“Charlotte, what grave?”

“The one in the forest. Under some tree ferns.” Somehow it was important he knew something relevant.

“Tell me you are okay.”

“Of course. And it isn’t a new grave so don’t think you need to hurry home. It might be years old. Or not a grave at all, but it is covered with flowers and a new wreath. Here, I’ll send you a photo.”

Perhaps she should have led with an image. Her words weren’t working, and Charlotte recognised the effect of adrenaline on her system. She zoomed in on the grave and took a couple of shots, then sent them to Trev.

“The flowers in the wreath look so fresh. There’s lavender and roses and—”

“Charlotte stop for a sec.”

She took a long breath, imagining Trev checking the photos. He’d tell her it wasn’t real. To go home and have a coffee and a lie down.

“I know you won’t touch anything.”

“No. And I’m a distance away.” Charlotte said.

“Can you find your way back there? For that matter, can you find your way out?”

“Yes. And yes.”

“Then leave now. Go back into the apartment and wait for a uniformed officer to arrive. I’ll make a call and leave once I find Mum.” The music grew louder again. “Text me once you are home.”

“Okay, but if anyone is in this grave, they’re beyond immediate help and I can—”

“You can start walking. Send me your location and get walking. Now, please.”

Charlotte grinned at his authoritative tone. “I’m leaving. Tell Rosie I’m sorry.”

Once Trev hung up, Charlotte sent him her location and spent another few minutes taking more photos. She climbed on a tree stump and did some panorama shots. The light through the trees was pretty but fading. Her phone dinged.

Are you home yet?

“Are you?” She typed back, on my way. And got going.

Once the grave was out of sight, she panicked and retraced her steps to find it. From then on she took photos every few metres. Trev might be driving now so couldn’t keep an eye on her location, but a sense of urgency drove her to follow his instructions.

I mustn’t forget the path.

But she was back on the flower trail and ahead, the main track beckoned. Soon she was running, and she didn’t know why and then sunlight filled her eyes and she was out of the bush. She sprinted to the back fence and flung the gate open. Panting, she turned and memorised the way in again. Then shut the gate and locked it.

“I appreciate it, Bryce.” Trev disconnected the call from his steering wheel. Detective Bryce Davis might not be his first choice to go to Charlotte, but someone had to, and he was still so far away.

“Darling, everything is fine.”

“Charlotte is probably still taking photographs from every imaginable angle. Why does she even do that?”

From the corner of his eye, Trev was aware of how stressed his mother was getting. She might sound relaxed and supportive, but her hands gripped his phone and her face was set.

Think, Trevor.

If…and it was a biggie, if it was a grave, then whose? Kingfisher Falls might have more than its share of corrupt politicians and peculiar criminals, but murder? Apart from Octavia Morris’ recent death—solved—he couldn’t recall another crime of this calibre.

He reached his hand over to cover Rosie’s. “She’s okay. She just doesn’t listen well.”

Rosie laughed. And he joined in.

His phoned beeped and Rosie checked the message. “She’s in the apartment. The third bedroom to be precise. And watching from the window in case.”

“In case?”

“You know Charlie.”

“Can you elaborate, Mum?” Trev wished he had the patrol car. Why was he so concerned about getting home quickly was a mystery. Charlie hadn’t seen a murder, or been stalked, or any one of the number of things she attracted to herself. Yet every sense drove him to touch the accelerator a bit more often and worry. Worry every minute.

“She likes to record things. I imagine there is a reason, which she might not even understand. But she photographs anything and everything.”

What kind of reason?

Charlie had a difficult childhood. And a tough adulthood. Were her terrible experiences with two former clients enough to drive her to cover herself with a record of some sort?

“What happens next, dear?”

“Will go and take a look. Seeing as Bryce is around, he can give me a hand determining whether there’s a body there. If so, we’ll call in the medical examiner.”

“Are we turning into Midsomer Murders? First Octavia…oh!” Rosie turned to Trev. “Do you think Glenys killed more people?”

“Apart from her husband and Octavia? Is anyone else missing?”

“Pity Jonas and the Murdoch brothers aren’t.” she muttered.

“Mum.” Trev had to smile.

“I know, I know. There haven’t been many odd occurrences in our town. Not for a long time. The only one I remember disappearing was the young lass who ran away. Before Dad and I bought the building. Do you recall?”

“Not really. What happened?” Trev overtook a car and accelerated as the speed limit increased.

“She was the middle child of the Ackerman family who owned my building. Her brother was a few years older and not interested in taking over the business. I remember overhearing an unfortunate argument between her and her mother when they didn’t see me come into what was then the bakery. She wanted to marry some boy she’d fallen for but was only seventeen. Her mother was furious. Said he was too old and she too young.”

“And then?”

“One day she left. Packed up and moved. The family were tight lipped, but it seemed she’d had enough and wanted to live her own life. The building went on the market soon after, I recall. So, not exactly an exciting murder mystery.”

“You know, there’s nothing at all exciting about murder.”

“Of course not, dear.”

Trev snuck a glance at his mother. She was calm now, and the little smile on her lips was disconcerting. He’d asked himself another time whether Charlie was a bad influence on his mother or was it the other way around.

Bad as each other.

And he loved every minute of being with them.