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    Festive Deception: Dark Mountain 2.5
    Festive Deception: Dark Mountain 2.5
    Festive Deception: Dark Mountain 2.5
    Ebook124 pages1 hour

    Festive Deception: Dark Mountain 2.5

    By DB Tait

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    About this ebook

    Murder doesn’t take a holiday!

    After ten years in jail, Julia Taylor is about to experience her first Christmas on the outside. Life is good. Her interior design business is growing and she’s happily in love with Dylan, the cop who helped clear her name. When she snags a major commission to redesign an historic house, she’s over the moon, but quickly slams back down to earth when she discovers her new client, dead.

    With Dylan investigating and a cast of odd suspects including an ex-spy in her seventies, Julia is reluctantly (well, that’s what she tells herself) drawn into finding out who wanted Vincent Perrin dead. What is about the house that inspires such greed?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDB Tait
    Release dateOct 25, 2016
    ISBN9781370804849
    Festive Deception: Dark Mountain 2.5
    Author

    DB Tait

    Born and bred in Sydney, Australia, I’m a life long lover of books in all forms but crime fiction in particular. I worked for many years in the New South Wales prison system but decide a tree change was needed so decamped to the beautiful Blue Mountains, west of Sydney. Now I write and work part-time in the community sector, tend my out-of-control garden, and try not to procrastinate too much.

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      Book preview

      Festive Deception - DB Tait

      1

      Christmas . Her first Christmas out of jail in ten years.

      Julia Taylor didn’t have time to think about those wasted years, serving time for a crime she hadn’t committed. She was too busy attending to customers in her friend Larissa’s up-market gift and homewares shop. A few weeks from Christmas and business was hopping.

      But as she wrapped presents and re-stocked shelves, discordant sounds intruded into the affluent Leura morning. High up in the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney, Leura was a tourist mecca. A quaint village atmosphere coupled with stunning views out to Mount Solitary, made Leura a mountains town for the comfortable and wealthy. Discordant sounds weren’t normal.

      Hey, asshole. Wat’ya think you’re doin’?

      As Julia deftly slipped a cushion into an oversized carry bag, the long drawn out whine of protest carried into Le Petit Cadeau from the street outside.

      There you are, she said, holding up the bag and plastering a brilliant smile on her face, hoping the acquisition of an original design by a once notorious murderer now proved innocent (namely her), would distract the woman in front of her from the looming disaster outside. And disaster it would be. Wesley Bryant was the owner of the outraged whine and if Wesley was involved, disaster followed.

      God love him, he never meant to be such a magnet for chaos, but even with good intentions, chaos found him. On this occasion, as Julia saw off her well-heeled customer, she saw Wesley through the shop window, hands on hips behind his double parked bomb of a car, drawing in breath to abuse a driver in a snazzy Mercedes convertible.

      No, no, she muttered, moving to the doorway. Don’t do it, Wes.

      Too late. The owner of the Merc emerged from his car to a mouthful of Wesley at his worst. Or best, depending on whether such a vocabulary could be considered a form of verbal mastery. Julia was sure his skill at obscene abuse would have been highly regarded in jail, along with his extensive and imaginative tattoos that covered virtually every inch of his body. Add a scar that puckered his eyebrow and slashed across his face, just under his grey, shark-like eyes, and you had an ex-crim from Central Casting.

      What’s your problem, mate?

      To her horror, Julia saw the owner of the clipped, precise words was Vincent Perrin, new owner of one of Leura’s most historic mansions and hopefully, soon to be her employer. After meeting him at one of her artist mother Eleanor’s exhibitions, he’d expressed an interest in Julia’s design skills. While she knew she’d been slowly building a solid reputation as an interior designer, she had a feeling Perrin was also interested in her more sensational reputation as someone who’d done ten years for murder.

      He was that kind of person.

      But beggars can’t be choosers, she’d said to herself when he’d told her he wanted her to completely transform his house, Windrush. Sitting on the escarpment at the end of Sublime Point Road, the house was a mountains jewel, which Perrin had recently acquired at a bargain basement price, he’d told her sotto voce, a little slurry from several glasses of champagne.

      No such slurriness was evident now, as he stood beside his Merc glaring at Wesley.

      You took me parkin’ spot, Wes said. Didn’t ya see I was about to back in?

      I didn’t know what you were doing since you didn’t have an indicator on. I thought you were double parking your…

      He paused and glanced at Wesley’s sad excuse for a vehicle. Once it might have been a black, sporty hatch back, now it was a dark grey, bruised and battered.

      … car. He smirked which enraged Wesley further.

      Julia knew she had to intervene before the situation got out of hand. She raced out of the doorway of Le Petit Cadeau but not in time. Wesley bounded forward and grabbed Perrin’s soft linen shirt in his hand.

      You bastard. Think you’re better than the rest of us …

      Wesley Bryant, she yelled in what she hoped was an authoritative voice, stop that right now.

      He turned his head to her then back at Perrin. With a visible struggle, he let go of the other man’s shirt and pushed him back against the Merc.

      Fucker, he muttered. You’re not worth it. Turning to Julia he wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. Sorry, Jules.

      Go home, she said. Call Eleanor.

      He nodded, climbed back in his car and drove off.

      Julia quickly crossed the footpath and ran down the small steps to Leura Mall. The day was sunny and warm. Lots of tourists from the Northern Hemisphere strolled down the street, all wanting to experience Christmas in summer. The weather gods so far were co-operative, providing gorgeous days, mild nights and occasional rain in just the right amount to keep the fire risk low.

      Unfortunately, the weather gods had no effect on other, more incendiary events.

      Are you okay? she asked her possibly new employer.

      He shook himself and straightened his clothes. Mid-forties, sleek and quite handsome in a bland, unremarkable way, Vincent Perrin eyed her crossly. I’m fine. Friend of yours is he?

      Not really. He’s not long out of jail and Eleanor is trying to keep him on the straight and narrow.

      With little success I see.

      Julia kept her mouth shut, resisting the urge to tell him that Wes was actually doing very well after being in and out of custody since he was fifteen. He might look like a law abiding citizen’s worst nightmare, but since he’d finally got clean and sober, he was doing his best to get his life in order. He had bad days; today was clearly one of them.

      He can be a little volatile but he’s trying his best.

      Well, never let it be said I wanted to get in the way of your mother’s good works, he said with grudging good humor.

      Thank goodness he didn’t seem too pissed off. An assault charge was the last thing Wes needed.

      Actually, I came to see you. I want to talk to you about my plans for Windrush.

      Sure, Julia said. Would you mind if we talked inside? I’m the only one in the shop at the moment.

      Le Petit Cadeau’s windows were full of Christmas cheer. Larissa loved Christmas and made sure no one could ignore the festive frenzy of her displays. Snow women draped with silk scarves, Santa reclining on designer cushions and a large Christmas tree decorated in hand-blown glass baubles made by a local artisan, all created the right mix of whimsy and fun. Tourists laughed uproariously when they passed her shop, many of them dressed in t-shirts and light summery dresses, delighted they could experience Christmas without shivering under grey skies.

      Vincent glanced at the display and beamed widely. Perfect. Just perfect.

      Another Christmas fan. Julia smiled to herself.

      A few people were browsing as she listened to Vincent’s ideas about his new house. Thankfully, he seemed to be completely over his recent contretemps.

      I want to jazz the place up. Windrush needs to reflect my love of Louis Quinze art and furniture but still be contemporary and comfortable.

      Louis Quinze, Julia said, carefully.

      That’s right. He gazed off to the distance lost in a vision only he could see. I have all my furniture and art in storage. Originally I wanted to bulldoze the house …

      Julia had trouble suppressing a gasp of horror.

      …but the local Council wouldn’t let me. Something about heritage and landscape. So conservative. I wanted to build a rococo folly but it was not to be.

      Julia sent up a prayer of thanks to whoever looked after houses. Nothing wrong with Louis Quinze in the right setting, but Windrush was one of the finest examples of an Australian art deco building. Built in the nineteen-twenties by a Sydney department store grandee, it had withstood fire, wind and snow. Now a little ramshackle, it needed someone to love it and bring it back to life.

      So I take it you won’t change the internal structure too much? The ceiling and wall moldings will remain the same? The stained glass? It would be a pity to alter what is, after all, a fabulous example of the art deco style.

      He sighed and gazed at her with disappointment in his eyes.

      "No, they’ll stay the same, more’s the pity. I’m not allowed to change the internal structure much at all. Thankfully there was an addition to the lounge room built in the nineteen-seventies. Such an appalling decade for

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