Grave double, p.1
Grave Double, page 1
part #4 of Hettie & Ceefer Mystery Series
GRAVE
DOUBLE
A Hettie & Ceefer Mystery
Book #4
Rennae Todd
Jakada Books
PERTH, WESTERN AUSTRALIA
Copyright © 2023, Rennae Todd, Irene Sauman
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Grave Double: format (novella) / Rennae Todd / Jakada Books / Perth Western Australia
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Contents
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In this Story
Main Characters
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
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About the Author
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In this Story
Grave Double is the fourth and final title in the Hettie & Ceefer Mystery series set in the fictional outer-Perth suburbs of Woody Lake and Rosny, located one either side of the Cygnet River.
In this story, Hettie, Marlee and the Mrs. B’s visit the old cemetery and discover a burial that shouldn’t be there. While definitely not investigating a murder, Hettie gets involved with investigating a family history that her friend and fellow croquet player, Belle Danvers, has been asked to ghostwrite. What possible complications could that cause, even if the family history does involve the dead woman?
Main Characters
Parke Family
Henrietta (Hettie) Parke – 48-year-old President of the Parke Croquet Club and a relief teacher. Divorced and widowed from Brian Hitchcock, whose name she didn’t take. Lives at 6 Old Dairy Road.
Ceefer – a black cat who recently arrived in Hettie’s life. Has some unusual talents, not yet fully understood.
Violet Hitchcock – Hettie’s 22-year-old daughter. Runs the Club Cafe. Lives with Hettie.
Elly and Rafe Figeroa - Hettie’s 27-year-old daughter, works part-time in advertising. Husband Rafe, landscape designer. Two daughters, Jazmin (4) and Rosa (2). Live at 4 Old Dairy Road.
Larry and Gwen Parke – Hettie’s younger brother, aged 46. Plays bowls. Runs the Parke Real Estate Agency with wife Gwen. She and Hettie are friends, most of the time. Live at 2 Old Dairy Road on the corner of Jersey Street.
Pearl, Max and Maxxie Longchamp – Hettie’s younger sister aged 37. Married to businessman Max. Their 20-year-old son Maxxie is a university student. Previously lived at 10 Old Dairy Road, now live on Rosny Circle.
Jack and California (Callie) Parke – Hettie’s parents. Live in a villa unit across the Road at Sunny Vale Retirement Village.
Alice Slater –Alice is Jack’s Parke’s younger sister. A widow now, she lives at 8 Old Dairy Road.
Eddie, Gloria and Frank Garcia – Related to Callie Parke. Eddie is a retired plumber. His son Frank, in his early 30s, is a primary school sports teacher. Eddie’s sister Gloria favours conspiracy theories. They occupy two houses further along Old Dairy Road.
Others
Detective Inspector Grayson Fox – Perth homicide squad. Someone Hettie knew quite well some years ago.
Sergeant Stuart Higgins – In charge of Rosny Police Station
Dan Wallace – reporter for the Rosny Record, and Violet’s boyfriend
Mrs. Edith Braxton and Mrs. Ila Bronson – Known as the Mrs. B’s. Frequent the Club Cafe and live opposite on Old Dairy Road.
Janelle Rice – knew Ceefer’s previous owner, Miranda. Has a white Persian named Aurora who is Ceefer’s troublesome friend.
Marlee Grainger – Hettie’s friend and former teacher, now a librarian at the Battye Library of West Australian history
Various Croquet and Bowls Club members – Judy Sanford, Romola Asquith & Belle Danvers play croquet and are friends of Hettie’s.
Parke Trust
Bladen (Den) Barrett – former mayor of Cygnet LGA
Isolde Reflex – lawyer
Darla Dalrymple – owner of Top Cut Hair Salons
Chapter One
An Outing is Planned
Hettie locked the door to the croquet patio behind the last club members and stared out at the three new courts under development behind her existing three. She still found it hard to believe it was really happening. It had seemed sometimes during the past year that her new courts would remain a pipe dream. Unfortunately, there were some in the community who thought that was just where they should have stayed.
“We’re losing our public park to a private club,” one letter to the Editor of the Rosny Record claimed. “Ordinary people losing out to the sporting elite. They need to be called to account.” And “How much is this costing us?” cried another.
It upset Callie. Just as Hettie felt she and her mother were making headway towards a more amiable relationship, this assault on the Parke name set her off again.
“First it’s murder, and now it’s your club,” she complained. Which was rich, Hettie felt, considering her mother had been encouraging her to raise the Croquet Club’s profile and associate something positive with the family name.
Eventually, and no doubt at Callie’s insistence, the Parke Trust had issued a statement in the Rosny Record explaining that no public money was spent on maintaining the park and lake, and that the land was, in fact, made available to the public through the philanthropy of the late Terrence Parke and his family. As for the Clubs, they were self-supporting and available to anyone to join on payment of the requisite membership fee.
The Trust’s statement didn’t completely stop the grumbles. The complaints then shifted to ‘giving with one hand and taking with the other.’ Hettie wondered if some people simply enjoyed having something to complain about.
The new courts weren’t ready for use yet, but the grass had been laid and top dressed, and there was a temporary fence separating them from the courts they were using. In six weeks, her dream of holding some of the National Tournament events at the Parke Croquet Club in Woody Lake would become a reality.
She forced herself to turn away from the view. Friends and fellow members Judy Sanford, Romola Asquith and Belle Danvers were already in the Cafe, and she was supposed to be joining them for lunch. It was Belle’s birthday. Despite the cakes for morning tea, Belle wasn’t ready to end her celebrations just yet. Hettie decided a salad would be a wise choice for lunch. She headed toward the back of the croquet room and the private entrance to the Cafe.
“Hettie.” George Engles voice halted her, and she turned back reluctantly. The Bowls Club president was approaching from the passage that accessed their offices, kitchen, and bathrooms, and the bowls room. His normally pleasant, square face was twisted into a scowl.
“What is it, George?” Hettie asked trying to appear upbeat. “I’m late for lunch.”
“Someone’s been throwing rubbish onto our greens again. Apple cores, rotten bananas, squashed peaches.”
“Well, that’s a waste of good fruit,” Hettie said lightly.
George’s voice rose a notch. “It’s not a joking matter. This is the second time this week. It’s all the attention in the papers about your courts taking away some of the park area that’s causing it. It’s upsetting people.”
Hettie wished Larry were here right now. Her brother was always able to calm George, but he was away down south with Gwen for a long weekend break. She’d always got on well with George herself, once upon a time. Before he became president and began to get upset about her plans for expansion.
“I’m sorry, George,” Hettie responded, determined not to escalate the matter. “If it happens again you might want to report it to Sergeant Higgins. Have you thought of putting CCTV cameras outside?”
“Well, if I did, the Croquet Club should be paying for ‘em. This is all your fault.”
Hettie stared at him for a moment. “We haven’t had a problem with rubbish, George. Funny it’s the bowling greens that are being targeted and not the croquet courts. You sure you haven’t upset someone?”
“I should never have agreed to any of this,” George muttered, and stomped off back the way he’d come. Hettie shook her head and went into the Cafe.
“Merrow,” Ceefer greeted her as she entered the main room. He was sitting by the Mrs. B’s table as usual. They did spoil him.
“Hello, to you, too,” she said, stopping to rub behind his ears.
“How are you, Hettie?” the elderly Mrs. Braxton asked. “Your new courts are looking very nice.”
“I’m fine, thank you. Yes, they are, aren’t they?”
“You must be excited. Not long now. I remember when you first as ked for more land. Some people weren’t happy about losing a bit of the park, you know, but I always said…”
“We know all that, Edith, it’s history,” Mrs. Bronson broke in. “Don’t hold Hettie up, now. Her friends are waiting to order.”
“I was just saying…”
“You’re always just saying, Edith,” Mrs. Bronson interrupted again.
Hettie left them to it. She had come to the conclusion years ago that the two elderly friends enjoyed their little squabbles, but Mrs. Bronson had sounded more acerbic than normal. She joined the girls in the booth along the side wall, overlooking the shade garden.
“We were about to send out a search party for you,” Belle said as Hettie slid in beside Judy.
“George waylaid me,” Hettie explained. “Someone’s been throwing rubbish on the greens, and it’s all our fault for the newspaper attention we’ve been getting. I suggested CCTV cameras and he said the Croquet Club should pay for them.”
“That’s a bit over the top,” Belle said.
Tess, her hair today a vibrant pink, came over to take their order as Violet attended to a customer at the counter. With orders placed, and coffees and water in front of them, they forgot about George and his rubbish for the moment.
“So, what’s this project you have to work on today,” Romola asked Belle.
“It’s a family history job,” Belle replied, brushing back her long, curly red hair. “The woman is researching her grandmother’s story, but she’s a horticulturalist, and needs help putting the words together.” Which was what ghostwriter Belle made her living at, of course.
“But why today?” Romola persisted. “Surely you could have put her off on your birthday.”
“I couldn’t. She’s only here for the weekend. She’s staying at an Airbnb in Rosny but leaving for home again tomorrow afternoon,” Belle explained.
“Who is she researching?” Hettie asked. “There must be a connection here if she’s visiting.”
“She could be here just to see Belle,” Judy reasoned.
“Of course, she could.”
“That’s it, I imagine,” Belle replied. “She found my website and decided she needed some help. She’s from Denmark.”
“Oh.”
Belle laughed. “Not Denmark in Scandinavia. Denmark, Western Australia.” That wasn’t what had surprised Hettie. It was because Denmark was where Gwen and Larry were spending part of their four-day break. “I’ll let you know if my client has any juicy stories about your families,” Belle added with a wink.
“Hardly likely,” Judy replied. “None of us have been here as far back as our grandmothers.”
“Except for Hettie,” Romola reminded her.
“I’ve heard enough about my family history recently, thank you very much,” Hettie said.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll make it an interesting read, Belle, whatever the grandmother’s story,” Judy told her, as their food arrived.
As they ate, Hettie thought again of George Engles and his claim that her new croquet courts were causing problems for the Bowls Club. She wondered if there might be something she could do that would help them all.
“What do you think about us holding an Open Day?” she asked her friends. “I’m thinking if we involve the Bowls Club it should make George feel better about what we’re doing, and show people see we’re not this private, exclusive club some believe us to be. We could celebrate the opening of the new courts at the same time.”
“You want to do this before the Nationals?” Romola, as Club Secretary, kept an eye on timetables.
“Say in four weeks?” Hettie said.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Judy agreed, as Romola and Belle both nodded. “If we can get it up in time.”
“We could have some players taking visitors around the court for a game with a bit of coaching,” Romola said.
“Balloons, food trucks, a magician,” Belle put in.
“A magician?”
“It’ll keep the kids amused while their parents try out croquet.”
“Good idea. I’ll talk to Vi about what the Cafe can do, and what food trucks we might want,” Hettie said.
“We have a committee meeting next week,” Romola reminded them. “Doesn’t give us much time.”
“I’ll set up as much as possible beforehand,” Hettie promised. “Dan could give us some advertising, too.” Having a reporter as a potential future son-in-law was proving more useful than Hettie would have imagined. “And I’ll talk to George. He can plan some attractions for the Bowls Club at the same time. Hopefully, that will cheer him up.”
With plans for the event put in motion, conversation for the remainder of lunch focused on Western Australia’s chances of winning the Interstate Shield at the Nationals, and whether their top player could take out another gold medal.
As they were leaving to go their separate ways after lunch, Hettie’s phone rang. She waved her friends off as she answered it, standing in the Cafe garden.
“Marlee how are you?” she greeted the caller.
“Hettie, are you busy this afternoon?” Marlee, never one to waste words, wanted to know.
“Ah, no, not unless you count housework. Why, what’s up?”
“I want to visit that cemetery of yours for my project. Can you come with me? You can give me some background while we’re there.”
“Um, yeah, sure. What time?”
“I’ll be at yours at two.”
“You’ve got my address?”
“I do. And my GPS. Thanks, Hettie. I appreciate it.”
“It’ll by good to see you.” They ended the call.
“Well, that’s more fun than vacuuming the house, anyway.”
“What is?” asked a voice behind her.
Hettie spun around, realising she’d spoken aloud. Mrs. Bronson was looking at her quizzically.
“I thought it was only old people who talked to themselves,” Mrs. Braxton commented.
“Well, you would know,” Mrs. Bronson said.
Hettie frowned. What was going on with these two? The sharp edge to Mrs. Bronson’s comments didn’t seem to have improved over lunch.
“I’ve been invited to accompany a friend to visit the old cemetery this afternoon,” Hettie replied.
“Whatever for?” Mrs. Bronson snapped. So, it wasn’t just Mrs. Braxton she was being sharp with.
“Marlee’s a librarian at the Battye Library and she’s documenting the old cemeteries in the state.”
“We haven’t been able to go there this year, have we Ila?” Mrs. Braxton said. Hettie knew they put flowers on her grandmother’s grave each year around the anniversary of Florrie Parke’s death. The three of them had been close friends.
“And I suppose that’s my fault,” Mrs. Bronson snapped back.
“Oh, Ila, for goodness’ sake. We can’t help getting older. It comes from living.” Mrs. Braxton replied, losing patience.
“Hmph.” Ila Bronson moved off past them without another word, which was when Hettie noticed she was moving carefully and using a walking stick. She and Mrs. Braxton watched as Mrs. Bronson made her way slowly through the Cafe garden, heading for her home across Old Dairy Road.
“She’s unwell?” Hettie asked.
“It’s her hip,” Mrs. Braxton explained, a note of sadness and concern in her voice. “The doctor’s talking about an operation and a replacement. She’s not taken it well, poor love.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hettie said. “About the operation, I mean. I imagine she wouldn’t be able to get up the hill to the cemetery right now.”
“No, that’s the problem.”
“But you could, couldn’t you? Why don’t you come with Marlee and me today?” Hettie offered on the spur of the moment.
“I really don’t want to go without Ila,” Mrs. Braxton said regretfully. It was clear to Hettie she was torn about refusing. “I did think of going by myself, but I don’t like being out there alone. It is quite isolated.”
“It is,” Hettie agreed, imagining how an elderly lady would feel by herself out there, with nothing but open paddocks dotted with a few straggly eucalypts, and a cemetery on a hill. She thought quickly.
“What if Mrs. Bronson comes with us but waits in the car? And I video you putting the flowers on Grandma’s grave?”
