Murder Among the Roses

Murder Among the Roses

Laurel Lamperd

Smashwords Edition Copyright 2010

All rights reserved

Cover: Painting Vincent Van Gogh. Designed by Wendy Larharnar

www.authorsden.com/laurellamperd

Fiction by Laurel Lamperd

Crossroads at Isca

Substitute Bride

Wind from Danyari

The Japanese Grandmother

Battle of Boodicuttup Creek

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Chapter 1

Cecily Loving glanced through the living room window and saw a white sports car parked at her gate. Looking neat in a dark brown shirt and fawn trousers, Jeremy Hepplewaite was making his way along the path to her front door.

She hurriedly ducked out of sight. She couldn’t imagine why he’d visit her. Composing herself, she waited until the doorbell rang. It still shocked her when it did. She opened the door and pretended to look surprised.

How are you, Cecily? Jeremy said as if he’d come on a social call.

She stepped onto the verandah to talk to him. No way would she invite him into the house. She’d heard about his bottom pinching and suggestive remarks from some of the women in the town. They had laughed and said not to be caught alone with him

Eunice Donnelly hadn’t laughed. Cecily had heard her tell Sophie Spalding that Jeremy called on her two and three times a week and was becoming a nuisance with his visits.

You’re getting on well with the house, Jeremy said, studying the new flooring on the verandah.

Cecily wondered whether he’d been spying on them. Rufus does what he can with his time off, she said, feeling she was apologizing for her husband.

Old Joe, who used to own this place, allowed the house to fall into disrepair. I woul have bought it if I didn’t already have my own property. The land here would be better for roses. It’s pretty dry up on my hill.

Cecily preferred living in the valley too, and loved the autumn mists that sometimes hadn’t dispersed until mid-morning when the bush emerged dripping wet to bird calls echoing along the creek. She pushed her bushy red hair back from her face, feeling friendlier towards Jeremy. Perhaps he wasn’t such a ladies’ man after all.

He moved closer. I have a proposition for you.

She stepped back a pace. He might want her to clean his house. It would be one way to get her into his bedroom but she wouldn’t fall for that old trick. He wouldn’t be the first man who had propositioned her.

Would you like to sell heroin to your friends?

He said it so casually she wondered if she’d heard correctly. She saw his smiling mouth behind the short grey beard covering his chin and the thinning dark hair, probably dyed, she thought, and knew she had. Why would I want to sell drugs? She tried to remain calm as her voice rose higher with each word.

Jeremy smiled again, showing the glint of a gold filling in his teeth. You’ve sold drugs to them before.

She felt her face redden. He must know about the six months she’d spent in gaol for selling marijuana.

He continued. It would be worth your while. I wouldn’t tell anyone you’ve been in gaol.

So he did know. It sounded like a threat? Did he mean he’d put it around about her stint in prison? It would finish the new life she’d made for herself in Taylors Crossing. She should complain to the police but it would be his word against hers. The police would sure to believe him instead of her. She had the criminal record. Rufus wouldn’t agree. She fell back to using Rufus in situations she found difficult to handle.

How do you know he isn’t into drugs himself?

He’s not. She wanted to slap his arrogant smiling face but she wondered if it was true, and if it was, how did he know? Perhaps Rufus did sell drugs. She knew little of what he did.

He wouldn’t tell you, would he? It would be easy in his job.

So he knew Rufus worked as a bouncer in a nightclub. Rufus had been furious about her getting caught with marijuana. She’d wondered if at the time he was worried she’d lead the police to him.

You wouldn’t have to tell him. It would be between you and me.

That’s what she’d thought when she sold marijuana to her friends. I don’t have anything to do with drugs. She croaked the words and before he answered she wrenched the door open, nearly tripping over the doorstep in her haste to get inside. She slammed it shut. Running to the back door, she locked that too.

She stood with her back against it, breathing heavily, her eyes darting fearfully to the windows. He couldn’t get in unless he smashed one but if he looked through a window he’d see her crouched against the door like a scared rabbit. She didn’t want to pull the drapes and bring his attention to her.

She rushed into the bathroom and pressed the latch to lock the door. Her nails bit into her palms as she glanced at the frosted window. He couldn’t see her in here. Relieved, she sank onto the white fluffy bath math.

So what if she’d grown a few plants among her potted plants and sold them to friends as a favour. Then a friend had sold the marijuana to one of her friends and the friend was caught. The police had followed the trail back to her. It had all come out. She’d sold marijuana to fourteen women.

A housewives drug circle, the policeman said who booked her. He didn’t bother to hide his grin.

It wasn’t really criminal though the police and that woman judge had thought it was. The judge’s blue eyes were steely under her wig when she sentenced Cecily to six months gaol without parole. You have to be made an example of, she said in a firm voice. We can’t have this happening in our suburbs. She fined the other women and placed them on good behaviour bonds.

Cecily wept when she was led away by a policeman, young enough to be her son if she had a son. The last she saw was Rufus’s angry face.

She hadn’t sold marijuana to make money but the little bit she made, well more than a little bit, came in handy, but she wouldn’t go down that track again. She didn’t want to go to gaol again. The social worker told her it would be a longer term next time.

When she came out of gaol she discovered Rufus had sold their Perth house and bought this old house at Taylors Crossing in the Darling Ranges, seventy kilometres east of the city.

The further you are away from your friends, the better, said Rufus, glowering when he met her at the gaol.

He didn’t have to tell her. No way would she grow or smoke pot again.

But contrary to her expectations she’d made new friends at Taylors Crossing. She hadn’t expected to but one did in a small town. No one here knew about her past except Jeremy.

She lost count of time. There were only the sounds from the men working on the two new houses next door. She rose, stiff and aching, and unlocked the door.

Stumbling to the living room window she peered outside, making sure she stood well back so no one saw her. Jeremy and his car had gone.

She drew the curtains, made coffee and sat in the living room drinking it while she watched television. She felt too ill to even knit.

She’d finished her second coffee when she heard a vehicle drive into the carport. She was terrified that Jeremy had come back.

She saw Rufus walk past the window but wasn’t quick enough to unlock the door before he rattled the doorknob. Are you there, Cecily?

She unlocked the door before he knocked again.

Rufus Loving’s brawny arms and chest filled the doorway. He’d been state heavyweight-lifting champion in his younger years. His coach had wanted him to enter the national championships but he couldn’t be bothered putting in the training needed to propel him to the top.

Rufus pulled the curtains aside from the window. It’s like a morgue in here. Why did you lock the door?

I had a visit from Jeremy Hepplewaite. Cecily felt her bottom lip wobble.

Rufus turned from the window. Hepplewaite shouldn’t be a worry that you had to lock the house? I doubt whether he’d rape you. He filled the kettle and switched it on.

His sarcasm annoyed her. He asked me to sell drugs. The shock on Rufus’s face made her giggle. I suppose he found I’d been in … you know. How would he know?

I’ve seen him a few times around the clubs. I didn’t think he’d be mixed up in the drug scene.

Do you know many people who deal in drugs? She held her breath, afraid of his reply.

You get to know who’s who.

His mild answer relieved her. He suggested you might be into drugs.

Rufus’s square face contorted with rage. The bastard. I’ll kill him. What else did he say? In his fury he could hardly get the words out.

She wished she hadn’t told him. Nothing, she stuttered.

He looked like he wanted to strangle someone. I’ll see the bastard tomorrow. I’ll make mincemeat of him if he doesn’t watch it.

Chapter 2

Gretchen Woodwine sidled into the Taylors Crossing store and headed towards the Dairy section. She picked up a container of milk and grabbed a loaf of bread from the bread stand.

Trudy Enright glanced up as Gretchen placed the two items on the checkout counter. Just the person I want to see. Would you deliver a parcel to Jeremy Hepplewaite on your way home? I forgot to give it to him this morning.

Gretchen frowned. I won’t have time. I want to get home to see ‘Neighbours’.

Trudy pushed her spiky blond hair from her forehead. It won’t take a minute. He said he’s going away for a few days. You know what his few days are like. Sometimes he’s away weeks, even months. She placed the milk and bread in Gretchen’s carry bag.

Annoyed at Trudy, Gretchen wanted to get out of the store. Dad doesn’t like me going there.

I’m sure your father won’t mind this once. Before Gretchen could protest further, Trudy dropped the parcel into the bag, took a chocolate from a stand on the counter and dropped that in too. There’s a Violet Crumble for delivering it.

Oh, all right. Gretchen grabbed the bag and left, cutting off Trudy’s thanks, she jumped on her pushbike from where she’d leant it against the big Moreton Bay Fig tree near the store.

The shadows of the houses fell across the main street as she rode towards the tennis courts and school. Turning at the corner she faced the full glare of the setting sun on the long climb up the hill.

Most of the blocks along the road were a hectare in size: a leftover from the railway town that Taylors Crossing had been before the government re-routed the line.

In the distance Gretchen saw Eunice Donnelly walking along the side of the road, pushing her bike. Perhaps Eunice would take the parcel into Jeremy. If she hurried she’d catch up with her before she reached his house. She pushed down hard on the pedals, her breath coming in gasps as she shortened the distance between Eunice and came abreast with her at the beginning of Jeremy’s rose garden.

I didn’t know you were behind me, Eunice said when Gretchen skidded to a stop.

Gretchen glanced at the package in the carry basket at the front of her bike. Better to wait until they reached Jeremy’s before she asked her to deliver the parcel.

The sun had set behind the hill when they reached the stone-walled house.

Gretchen handed Eunice the parcel. Would you give this to Jeremy? I’m in a hurry to get home so I can see ‘Neighbours’.

Eunice stared at the package. It won’t take you long to run it in to him. I’ll wait for you.

Gretchen frowned. By the look on Eunice’s face, she knew she wouldn’t budge. Eunice didn’t like Jeremy. Gretchen had heard her describe him as a sexually inflated little toad. She leant her bike against the picket fence and opened the gate, allowing it to swing shut. Hurrying along the cobbled path she ran up the steps and pressed the bell.

Eunice took off her helmet and pushed the damp tendrils of hair back from her forehead. What a pity Gretchen wore those terrible khaki shorts that came down past her knees. They didn’t enhance her looks one whit.

No one’s home, Gretchen called from the verandah.

Try again. Eunice stared at the gazebo and the pink and white roses climbing over it. She thought she saw the lower part of a leg and a shoe protruding through a scatter of roses. She peered harder. Is that you, Jeremy? When he didn’t answer she propped her bike against the fence and walked along the path to the gazebo. She wouldn’t put it past him pretending to be sick for a joke.

She reached the building and stopped. Jeremy lay on the paved floor. His eyes stared sightlessly and his mouth gaped open. One side of his face was covered in dried blood, which had run down into his shirt collar. The bile rose to her throat. She turned her head and gulped for air.

A crowd of flies sitting on the gaping wound at the side of his head rose en mass as she felt for the carotid vein in his neck. No pulse but she hadn’t expected there would be.

Backing away she stepped into a rose bush. The thorns scratched her bare legs and galvanized her into action. She ran along the path, shouting to Gretchen who leant over the verandah railing watching her, Jeremy’s dead. I think he’s been murdered.

Murdered, Gretchen shrieked and ran down the steps after Eunice. What happened to him?

Eunice fumbled the latch on the gate and swung it open. It looks like someone hit him on the head. She swallowed hard. I wish I’d remembered to bring my mobile phone. We’d better go back to the shop and ask Dave to phone the police. She grabbed her bike from against the fence.

I’ll get into trouble from dad if I’m not home before dark. Gretchen choked on her sobs and wiped her tear-stained cheeks with the back of her hand.

Okay. You go home. Let me have the parcel. I’ll give it to Trudy.

Gretchen almost threw it at her, then jumped on her bike and pedalled along the road as if all the demons in hell were after her.

Eunice took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. Sometimes Gretchen behaved like a ten-year-old instead of a forty-year-old woman.

Eunice rode down the hill as fast as she dared. The streetlights came on, shocking her with their stark brilliance. She skidded around the corner into the deserted main street. The store was closed.

Dropping her bike on the ground she ran to Trudy’s house next door and pressed the bell.

A few minutes later Trudy opened the door. Oh, it’s you. I thought you’d gone home.

Jeremy’s dead.

Trudy’s eyes widened. What happened to him?

It looks like he was bashed on the head. He’s in the gazebo. Eunice placed her hand against the door frame, her legs feeling about to collapse from under her. Swallowing hard she struggled to speak calmly, Would you ask Dave to phone the police?

He’s not home. Concern flashed across Trudy’s face. He’s not usually this late. I hope he hasn’t had an accident.

He’ll be all right. He shouldn’t be long, should he? He can show the police where Jeremy is. I still have Mrs Skillicorn to visit. She must wonder where I am. I was on my way when I met up with Gretchen.

You aren’t going back past Jeremy’s, are you? Trudy’s voice came quickly. What if the murderer’s still there?

He’d be gone by now surely but I’ll go home and get my car.

Trudy glanced beyond her. The blue whitish light from the streetlights gave the surroundings a sinister appearance. Isn’t it too dark to ride your bike? Someone could knock you down. Why don’t you wait for Dave? He’ll drive you home.

I’ll keep to the cycle track. It’s a nuisance the light globe on my bike has blown. Eunice handed the parcel to Trudy. Here’s the package you gave Gretchen. There didn’t seem much point leaving it.

Chapter 3

Gretchen pedalled hard until she reached the top of the hill and swung around the corner, braking a few minutes later as she turned into her driveway. She rode through the clumps of native bush to the rear of the house. Dropping the bike by the verandah, she grabbed the bag of groceries from the wire basket, ran up the steps and opened the door. She locked the door and hurried through the house, securing the front door and windows.

She switched on the TV and slumped in an easy chair, breathing heavily as she watched the credits roll at the end of ‘Neighbours’. She’d missed it. If Trudy hadn’t asked her to take the package to Jeremy’s, she and Eunice wouldn’t have found him dead and she would have seen ‘Neighbours’.

She plugged in the kettle to make a cup of tea. Tea steadied the nerves her mother always said. She placed a spoonful of tea in the pot and waited for the water to boil.

The man who killed Jeremy might have seen her. They could have seen… They could come here and kill her. Her hand trembled as she poured the tea in a cup. She gulped a mouthful and burnt her tongue.

The door handle rattled. She jumped in fright.

Are you there, Gretchen? her father called.

She hurried to the door and unlocked it.

Seward Woodwine, a thin man of medium height with sparse silvery hair, stepped into the room.

I’ve made a pot of tea. Would you like one? Gretchen said as she took a cup from the kitchen dresser.

Yes, please. He sat at the table. Why did you lock the door?

I’m scared. Eunice found Jeremy dead in his gazebo. Gretchen’s mouth trembled. She went back to the shop to ask Trudy to phone the police.

Seward glared at her. I told you not to go to Jeremy’s.

Gretchen cringed at the anger in his voice. Trudy asked me to deliver a parcel. She should have taken it herself. Eunice shouldn’t have looked in the gazebo. She wouldn’t have seen Jeremy then. I missed ‘Neighbours’ too.

Seward stared at his mug of tea, seemingly getting his thoughts together. Never mind. You’ll catch up tomorrow.

The phone rang.

Seward clambered stiffly to his feet and picked up the receiver. Yes, she’s home. He glanced at Gretchen. Yes, she told me. I can hardly believe it. No, I didn’t see him this morning. Yes, it’s a shock. I’ve no idea who did it. Keep your doors and windows locked.

Seward replaced the phone and turned to Gretchen. Eunice wanted to make sure you were home. She’s at Mrs Skillicorn’s. He rubbed his hands together. Now what are we having for tea?

Gretchen had planned to cook curried sausages and rice but she felt sick after what happened. We could have the bit of stew left over from last night.

Good idea. What about cooking some spuds too. I like a few mashed potatoes.

Dave Herridge walked into a kitchen filled with the smell of frying chicken, onion and mushrooms. He came up behind Trudy and nuzzled her neck. Something smells good. What are you cooking? he asked, watching her throw freshly grated ginger in the pan.

Chicken Ginger. She eased from his embrace and stirred the chicken pieces.

One of my favourites. He speared a cube of chicken with a fork, blew on it and ate it.

She rapped his knuckles with the wooden spoon.

Dave smiled, the smile further distorting his face with its broken nose, which had happened in a fight in gaol. He licked the gravy from his fingers.

Where have you been? She didn’t bother to hide her annoyance. I expected you home an hour ago.

He ran his fingers through his greying hair. I left the warehouse late. There were more deliveries than I expected.

She felt relieved. So you have an alibi?

He glanced up from opening a letter. Why do I need an alibi?

Jeremy Hepplewaite is dead. I’ve just phoned the police to tell them.

He dropped the letter and stared at her.