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

“Mum can’t…I mean, Mrs Forest can’t lift much so I’m being Mr Forest’s right hand man.”

“Bet you’ll get something extra nice from Santa.”

Lachie gave her a stern look. “Santa is for little kids.” But then he sighed and looked down, kicking at the gravel. “Dad says us being together as a family is all we need for Christmas.”

Oh, sweetheart.

“Your dad is a wise man. Thanks for helping me, Lachie.”

Without another word, Charlotte climbed into the car. Looking at the little boy walking back to the shed, she needed the time to blink away unwanted tears before she started the car.

Back on the gravel road, Charlotte hugged the side as more cars headed to the farm. Lachie had hit a nerve. Or two. The other day, Rosie mentioned the farm was struggling, so perhaps Darcy was preparing his son for a quiet Christmas.

Lots of kids have nothing for Christmas. Lots of families are apart at this time of year.

Charlotte eased the tight grip she had on the steering wheel. Her body was tense, but she couldn’t pull over along here to stop and do some deep breathing.

A car loomed behind and it took a second for Charlotte to recognise it was a police car. And with its lights on. She crawled to a standstill on the very edge of the road and the police car parked right behind. One by one, Charlotte unclenched her fingers and by the time Sid lumbered to her door, she managed a questioning smile.

“You’re driving too slowly for the conditions. Probably cause an accident. Been drinking?”

Not so much as hello.

“Not much of a drinker, Sid. Particularly not in the morning.”

“Senior Constable Morris. We’re not friends. Driver’s licence.” He held out his hand. More like a paw with hair over the knuckles.

Charlotte slid her licence from her wallet. “There you go, Senior Constable Morris.”

He stomped off to his car and got in.

In the side mirror, Charlotte watched a dark car hurtle along the road, followed by a plume of dust. The driver was driving too fast and as his car passed Charlotte, stones flew into the air. One hit the windscreen with a thud. Dust covered Charlotte as she pushed the door wide open. The car was a ute, and it was impossible to see the number plates through the dust.

She coughed as she inspected a large chip in the middle of the windscreen. “Damnit.”

“Watch how you speak to me, missy.”

“I didn’t know you were there. See this?”

“Probably gonna break the glass. I’d get that fixed.” He smirked.

“Why don’t you chase the idiot who just did this?”

Sid gazed down the road, where the ute was turning onto the main road. “Didn’t see anyone. Sit back in your car. Gonna breathalyse you.”

Chapter Eight

Charlotte was too angry to continue her trip around the region and headed home. Sid had kept her for almost half an hour, checking her car from top to bottom when the breathalyser refused to give him the reading he wanted. Then, he’d sat in his car with her driver’s licence. Instead of marching up to him and demanding it back, she profiled him.

Definitely a bully, with a decent dose of narcissist. Probably insecure. Add the misogyny and superiority complex and he became a nightmare in this job. Out here, with few checks and balances, he’d run things his way.

When he’d eventually held out her licence, she’d been able to consider him with a little pity added to the mix. He needed help.

She parked in the garage, glaring at the chip in the windscreen. This was something she’d need to get fixed but at least she wouldn’t need the car for a while. That ute though. What she’d seen beneath the dust was familiar. If it was the one from the other night, then she wanted to find it. Sid saying he’d seen nothing gave a whole new element to this.

Was he part of it? Or just knew the culprit and didn’t want to do anything. Either way, he wasn’t the person for the job.

And you are?

As she lugged the tree upstairs, she grinned at herself. Charlotte Dean, Private Eye. If the bookshop didn’t work out, she could pursue the life of a private investigator. Smiling helped. Enjoying the small kick of serotonin, she grinned again.

At the top of the stairs was a small landing near the door. And a box took up much of the space. Taped on top was a handwritten note.

Was delivered to us by accident. Rosie told us where to find you.

Charlotte took the box inside first, then returned for the little tree.

The balcony was in full sun, with only one spot dappled by the shade of a neighbouring tree. Rather than shock the poor pine, she placed it where it had both sun and shade. It was so dried out that she poured two full jugs of water into the soil before it did more than run straight through the pot.

Back downstairs, she retrieved the ornaments and tinsel.

Sid Morris was still on her mind as she let herself back in the house. She flicked the kettle on, then lay on the floor and focussed on a spot on the ceiling as it boiled. Her heartrate came down, the anger drained away, and she regulated her breathing, flicking the bracelet to focus the emotions.

Need to meditate more often, Charlie.

The move to Kingfisher Falls, leaving behind the friends she loved in River’s End, dealing with new challenges, all of this raised her anxiety. Which was perfectly normal. But it was time for some self-care.

She made her coffee strong and took it onto the balcony, which was quickly becoming her favourite place. From here she could sit unnoticed from the street yet watch the comings and goings of this small town. In the new year, she’d buy some new furniture for out here. Perhaps a little BBQ to cook with on warm nights. If only she could think of a way for Rosie to come