Deadly Start by Clark Nefri (summer beach reads .txt) 📕

virtual stranger to help? Abbie rummaged through her wallet, then her handbag, pulling out a couple of notes.

“This is really embarrassing. I thought I had a bit more cash. I’ll need to take something out of the shopping. Um…”

“Excuse me.” Charlotte reached her arm past the other customers. “I think you dropped this.” She handed a twenty dollar note to the cashier in case Abbie refused it. “Nothing worse than dropping money in the supermarket.”

Before anyone could do a thing, she stepped back and avoided eye contact. But someone was behind her in line now. She could smell him.

Sid Browne. Oh, joy.

A couple of minutes later she was through the checkout with her items. Abbie stood outside the supermarket, swapping her bags from one arm to another in discomfort. Charlotte grabbed them. “Where’s your car?”

“You don’t need—”

With a whisper, Charlotte nodded back to the supermarket. “Sid Browne’s behind me and I’d appreciate being with you, if you don’t mind.”

Sid rounded the corner, looking each way. When he spotted Charlotte, he made a move her way.

“Car’s over there, and thank you, this baby is kicking away at the moment and making everything twice as tricky!” Abbie grinned at Charlotte as though they were in a conspiracy, and together they crossed the road.

“Thank you, Abbie. He is the last person I want to engage with.” Charlotte was conscious of him standing on the kerb watching them. “Is this one yours?”

“Until tomorrow. We’ve sold it and the new owner picks it up then.”

The car was a late model hatch in great condition. There was a baby seat in the back. Abby popped the boot and Charlotte lifted the bags in. “You still have the flatbed?”

“Darcy needs that to deliver trees. But nowhere to put the baby seat and Lachie is only just big enough to ride in it with a booster seat. He’s not the tallest of kids. You’re Charlotte? You bought the little dried out tree.”

“It is doing so well! The ends are green now and it gets some sunshine on the balcony.”

“You really shouldn’t have paid for it.” Abbie rubbed her back with a small groan. “And about inside? As soon as we get paid for the car, I’ll bring you the twenty dollars back. That was incredibly generous and discreet.”

“Paying it forward. Big believer in it. Are you open on Sunday? I wouldn’t mind taking a look at some more decorations and stuff.”

“We are. Not that we’ve had many customers lately. It’s almost as though people don’t want to buy from us suddenly.”

“I imagine people have their trees.”

“Sure. Anyway, I need to get this home and feed my hungry boys.” Abbie opened the driver’s door. “Thank you. I mean it.”

“Drive safely.”

Charlotte waited until Abbie’s car was out of sight before moving. She didn’t want Sid following a pregnant woman at night.

Follow me, Senior Constable. I’ll outrun you any day.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Oh, he’s really going to do it.

Charlotte strode along the footpath at a good pace without breaking into the run her brain was urging. She wasn’t about to give Sid Browne a chance to speak to her, not when she was alone. Not to mention hungry.

He tried to keep pace from across the road. His puffing was audible and she considering asking if he needed an ambulance. Instead, she put her energy into keeping her face forward and getting her keys out of her pocket. If he followed her up the stairs, she had no intention of answering the door.

“Oi. Missy!”

Are you kidding me?

When she saw Trev next time, she’d ask what channel to pursue to make a formal complaint. Until that time, she was ignoring the man.

She passed the bookshop and turned into the driveway, now breaking into a jog to get up and inside as fast as possible. Heart pounding, she locked the door and rushed to the balcony, opening the sliding door just enough to slip through. She’d left the lights off and kept close to the wall as she edged to the railing.

Doubled over, Sid coughed as he heaved in oxygen on the opposite side of the road. A car pulled over but as the driver got out to check him, he suddenly straightened and waved the man away without so much as a thank you. Even from up here, it was obvious how unfit he was, and he’d not done as much as run. He coughed some more, hands on hips, then glared in the general direction of the balcony.

She kept still. His hand moved to his police belt and he glanced down to unclip a flashlight. Charlotte dived back into the apartment. No way was he catching her watching him. She turned on all the lights, including the balcony’s lone light bulb. Then, she tapped her laptop to wake it up and selected some music. ABBA. Loud.

After pouring herself a glass of wine and sipping a few mouthfuls to settle her nerves, she got around to putting the yogurt into the fridge and getting the salad underway. Lots of olives. Half the block of feta, roughly chopped, and she did mean roughly. A tomato was stabbed into submission and the lettuce torn.

“Take that. And that.”

If only Sid knew what she was doing, he’d probably arrest her for planning his demise. Death by ripping.

She sang along with some songs, letting the catchy music and words take the rest of the tension. If he was still out there, all he’d hear was her reasonably tuneful voice singing seventies songs and have nothing to see.

Once the salad looked pretty on the plate, she topped up her wine, turned off the music, and went onto the balcony. She turned off the overhead light and lit a candle on the table. Much nicer. The rows of coloured lights along the street slowly flashed from green to gold to red and back again. From somewhere down the road—maybe toward the restaurants—Christmas music carried.

She’d forgotten the dressing, so returned to the kitchen and mixed olive oil with balsamic vinegar in a