“I haven’t agreed to have it yet,” came the snappy reply.

  “No? Have you talked to your doctor about it? It’s only natural to be concerned about what to expect.”

  “Hmph.” Mrs. Bronson turned and made her way carefully down her garden path and into her own house.

  Hettie watched until she was safely inside. She heard Mrs. Braxton’s door open and saw the woman standing, there looking out. Hettie picked up the folding chair Mrs. Bronson had left behind and joined Mrs. Braxton. The woman had tears in her eyes. Hettie leant the chair against the wall and hugged her.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Mrs. Braxton said, pulling a tissue from her sleeve and swiping at her eyes. “I’ve tried being patient but she’s so angry with life right now.”

  “I just suggested she should speak to her doctor for more information. I’m sure she must be scared.”

  Mrs. Braxton nodded. “I know I would be. This is the first thing that’s happened lately to remind us we’re getting older. She’s having trouble accepting it.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “I’ll check on her in the morning. And thank you for today, Hettie. I know Ila appreciates it too.”

  “Despite the outcome.”

  “Despite the outcome,” Mrs. Braxton agreed.

  Hettie crossed the Road to the Cafe. Violet would be closing soon. They could walk home together. There was something about murder that made you crave company. She hoped the Mrs. B’s would be okay. She was glad to know Marlee wouldn’t be on her own, although whether she could talk about it to her mother, she wasn’t sure.

  “Merroow.” Ceefer ran to her when she entered the Cafe. She picked him up and he bumped his nose under her chin and purred loudly when she rubbed behind his ears.

  Tess looked up and grinned at her from the table where she was refilling the condiments and napkin supplies. One table was still occupied by a couple, finishing an early meal it would seem. It was her backyard neighbours, the Dunlops from Daisy Street. Henry Dunlop wobbled his fork in Hettie’s direction, and she acknowledged them with a wave of her hand.

  Violet came out of the kitchen having heard the door, and possibly Ceefer, and no doubt wondering who the late customer might be, and what they might want.

  “Tell me you’re not involved in this too,” she said, looking from her mother to Ceefer. Hettie raised her eyebrows at her daughter in a ‘please explain.’

  “Dan got a call,” Violet said, lowering her voice. “A body’s been found at the old cemetery. Ceefer seems to think you know something about it.”

  “You know what they say about bad habits. They’re hard to kick.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “So, you didn’t recognise them? Not someone from around here?”

  “I didn’t see her face, Violet. Can we leave this conversation until we’re at home.”

  “A woman,” Violet mouthed. Hettie nodded and hoped Violet wasn’t thinking of filling in more pages in that scrapbook she’d started after the last murder they were involved with.

  Back home, over dinner of tuna and salmon fish cakes with sweet potato fries, and a salad, they discussed the proposed Open Day. Violet thought a Sunday would be the best option when Hettie suggested Saturday.

  “People are too busy on Saturday, Mum.”

  “Are they?”

  Violet popped a fry in her mouth and talked around it.

  “You don’t work full time anymore. You can do stuff during the week while other people must wait for the weekend. When did you last go to the hairdresser on a Saturday?” she asked, stabbing another fry.

  It was true. She avoided the shops on a Saturday whenever she could.

  “Anyway,” Violet continued, not waiting for an answer, “on a Sunday, I can open the Cafe and just concentrate on the visitors to the Open Day. Any other day could upset the regulars. So,” she considered for a moment, “if the Cafe concentrates on coffee and baked goods - pastries, muffins, cakes, scones - you could have a couple of food trucks that do sausages, burgers, perhaps pizza. That way we aren’t competing with one another but there’s something for everyone.”

  “I knew I could rely on you to have a sensible plan,” Hettie told her.

  “Oh, and an ice-cream truck,” Violet added.

  “Of course. Three or four food trucks, max. They can take one end of the car park. Can I leave you to book them?”

  “Sure.”

  There was a report on the discovery at the cemetery in the seven o’clock news, with images of the police presence, and of a covered stretcher being carried down the rise to a waiting ambulance.

  Dan called in shortly before nine. Violet went to make coffee for the three of them after greeting him in the hall.

  “Do they have a name for her?” Hettie asked as Dan dropped into an armchair in the living room. He looked tired.

  “Merrow.” Ceefer offered condolences from his spot curled up beside Hettie on the sofa.

  “Alicia Feldhurst,” Dan replied, rubbing his forehead. “Comes from Denmark, married with a daughter.”

  “Denmark?” Surely not.

  “That mean something to you?” Dan asked.

  “Possibly.”

  Belle had said the woman she was seeing today was from Denmark. Was it only this morning she’d told them that? There couldn’t be two women from the south-western town interested in family history and visiting Woody Lake this weekend, surely. And why else would Alicia Feldhurst have been at the old cemetery if not for family research? Well, there could be other reasons, Hettie supposed, but she didn’t believe in coincidences. Not around here, anyway.

  She reached for her phone. A call to Belle could provide an answer to that.

  “They might disclose more on the late news,” Dan said, accepting the coffee Violet handed him and gulping down several mouthfuls.

  Hettie decided to wait to call Belle. Violet perched on the arm of Dan’s chair and Hettie picked up the mug Violet had put before her on the coffee table. She sat sipping her drink as Dan and Violet chatted about their day until the news came on.

  Not only did the police disclose the woman’s name, but they also asked for help from the public regarding her movements over the previous forty-eight hours. It was Detective Grayson Fox who fronted the camera with the request. Of course, it would be, Hettie thought. He was becoming the expert on murders in Woody Lake. She still felt the old thrill when she saw him, too. Would that ever stop?

  She wondered if Larry and Gwen had heard the news of this murder. At least they wouldn’t know she was involved, which would explain why Gwen hadn’t rung, if they had heard of it.

  Her phone warbled. Speak of the devil. But it was Belle calling, not Gwen.

  “Did you see the news tonight?” Belle asked after a brief greeting, her voice pitched a little higher than usual. “That woman they found at the old cemetery was the one I was supposed to meet today. She didn’t turn up for our appointment and wasn’t answering her phone. I thought she’d changed her mind or was held up somewhere. I can’t believe it. Last thing I imagined was she’d died. Talk about a shock.”

  “I suspected it might be the same woman,” Hettie said, “when I heard she was from Denmark.”

  “How do you know that? It wasn’t on the news. You’ve been talking to that Dishy Detective again, haven’t you?”

  “I have not. It was Violet’s Dishy Dan who told me if you must know.” Violet giggled, as colour rose on Dan’s face. “But I know a little more, too. I was one of the people who found her.”

  “No. Not again. Hettie, what have you been doing?”

  Hettie explained her trip to the cemetery with Marlee and the Mrs. B’s.

  “Listen, Belle, can I put you on speaker? Dan is here now. I’m sure he’d like to hear what you’ve got to say.”

  “Sure, why not.” Hettie clicked on the button and put her phone on the coffee table.

  “What’s your connection to Alicia Feldhurst, Ms. Danvers?” Dan asked, after a nod from Hettie.

  “Oh, call me Belle, please. It was a business arrangement.” She repeated what she’d told Hettie and their friends earlier in the day. Dan didn’t take notes. He was recording the conversation in an app on his own phone.

  “So, you’d never met her?” he asked next.

  “No, wouldn’t know her from Adam - or Eve anyway. Only spoke to her on the phone.”

  “When did you speak to her last, Belle?” Hettie asked.

  “Late yesterday morning. She rang to confirm the time for our meeting today. Three o’clock. She’d just arrived at the Airbnb where she was staying. She was going to visit the cemetery, take some photos, and go through her material one last time, she told me.”

  Hettie knew the police would want that information but before she could say more Dan spoke again.

  “Was it the Feldhurst family she was researching?” he asked.

  “No, the name was Mason. Her grandmother was a Mason, and it was her story she was wanting to write about.”

  “The Masons?” Hettie echoed. Could this get any weirder?

  “Do you know them?” Belle asked.

  Hettie quickly explained how the newspaper item she’d found among her grandmother’s belongings had told of the drowning of two young Mason boys in the Cygnet River.

  “Would the boys have been buried in the old cemetery?” Dan asked.

  “Most likely, if the family were living here at the time,” Hettie said.

  “That would explain why Alicia was here, anyway,” Belle said. “I wonder if her family will want the story told still. I must admit to being curious. You don’t suppose her death had anything to do with her family history?”

  “Do you think she might’ve been about to reveal a secret that another family member didn’t want told?” Hettie asked.

  “It’s possible.”

  “That cemetery is hardly a spot where someone would happen on her by accident, is it?” Dan suggested reasonably. “Someone might have known she’d be there.”

  “Apart from me, if you don’t mind,” Belle put in.

  “Of course.”

  “Do you know if she was on her own, Belle?” Hettie asked.

  “I’ve no idea. She didn’t mention anyone.”

  “You’ll need to tell the police about your connection. They’ll be trying to put a picture together about her movements, and why she was here.”

  “Yes, I heard that. Can’t you pass it on?”

  “Even if I did, they’d still want to speak to you. Just call in at the Rosny station and tell them what you know.”

  “Will you come with me? Sergeant Higgins is a friend of yours, isn’t he?”

  Hettie supposed he was, especially lately when they seemed to bump into one another in the line of his work. She looked at the television. The late news had finished. It must be nearing ten. Was it too late to call him?

  “I’ll let him know you have some information and see what he wants to do about it, Belle. Okay?”

  They ended their call and Hettie sent a brief text to Stuart. He responded almost immediately, asking for Belle to come into the station at nine next morning. When Hettie forwarded the message to Belle she replied: “Meet you at the station at 9.”

  Hettie sighed and sent her a thumbs-up. So much for a quiet Sunday morning. At least it wasn’t a day for the family’s monthly Sunday lunch. With any luck, Callie wouldn’t hear about her finding another dead body. Miracles did happen, didn’t they?

  Chapter Four

  At the Police Station

  “Come on, Ceef. We can go for a nice walk,” Hettie said after breakfast next morning. It was just after eight-thirty. The sun was shining, although the air would be a little crisp, she knew. She had opted for black pants, a green and yellow knit, and her trademark yellow Skechers. Comfortable and casual. She went into the hall and took down Ceefer’s blue harness from the hall stand.

  “Ceefer?” she called when the cat didn’t immediately come bounding after her. She stepped back into the living room, where a black ball of fur was curled up on the sofa.

  “We can go for a walk in the park afterwards,” she said, when he didn’t even raise his head. “We might meet Sandra and Brutus.” Ceefer opened an eye at this but didn’t move. “Are you feeling all right?” He huffed and closed his eyes again. “Okay, I can take a hint.”

  She was surprised he wasn’t curious about what he might hear today at the police station. Unless he knew all about it already, of course. One could never be sure with that cat.

  “He does need to go for a walk, Mum,” Violet said loudly, from the kitchen, as Hettie turned back to the hall. “He’s getting fat and lazy. I’m going to have to stop people feeding him at the Cafe soon.”

  “We could keep him at home for a while,” Hettie suggested.

  “That’s actually a good idea,” Violet said, stepping into the living room, coffee mug in hand. “Better than me growling at our customers for feeding him. They’ll still sneak food to him, whatever I say.”

  Ceefer was wide awake now, eyeing them both balefully. Banning him from the Cafe, and handouts, was about the only thing they had control over where this cat was concerned. He hadn’t shown any ability to escape from the house. Yet anyway.

  “Yooeew.”

  He jumped down from the sofa, complaining as he made his way into the hall. Hettie and Violet grinned at one another but didn’t speak. The less said in front of a cat who understood what they said, the better.

  Once outside, smart in his harness, Ceefer perked up, tail high, as he led Hettie over the Cygnet River footbridge and along the riverside park into the Rosny township. Myrtle Street on Sunday was even busier than a weekday, with families and couples out and about, enjoying the shopping and the cafes. Violet was right. Sunday was a day for relaxing and enjoying yourself, shedding the cares of the week for a while. Ceefer, as usual, drew smiles and comments as he paraded by. Hettie didn’t think he’d object to the walk, in retrospect. Did cats even do retrospect?

  They turned off Myrtle Street and headed to the Rosny police station on the far corner. Hettie spotted Belle’s little, blue electric-powered Nissan Leaf parked nearby at the kerb. Belle got out and locked the car door when she saw them approaching. Her red curls were tamed, tied back in a neat twist. She was presenting her less flamboyant face, all the better to be taken seriously, Hettie thought. Belle’s grey pants, soft blue shirt, and smart black flats added to the effect.

  Hettie greeted her. “They might offer you a job, dressed like that.”

  Belle pulled a face. “Like I’d accept it. How are you Ceefer?” She bent and stroked his head.

  “Mrow.” The response was short and slightly huffy. Still annoyed at being dragged out it would seem.

  “Oh, like that is it?” Belle raised her eyebrows at Hettie who just shrugged.

  Inside the station they were taken to an interview room where Stuart soon joined them. After the usual preliminaries, Belle told him of her contact with Alicia Feldhurst as he recorded the conversation.

  “So, let me clarify this,” Stuart said. “She told you when she rang Friday morning that she was going to the cemetery?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you go to the cemetery, Ms. Danvers?”

  “No, of course not. Why would I do that?”

  “Mruff,” came quietly from near Hettie’s feet. Hettie didn’t know if Stuart or Belle heard Ceefer confirming Belle’s denial. Not that Stuart, anyway, would have understood what was meant.

  “That’s what I’m wondering,” he said, watching her carefully, full policeman’s face on. “You may be the only person who knew she would be there, and when.”

  “I’ve never met the woman, Sergeant,” Belle replied lightly. “And I know nothing about the family story she was working on, except for the name, Mason, and what Hettie has told me about them. I hadn’t received any material from her. She was to give that to me at our appointment on Saturday.”

  Stuart looked to Hettie, sitting quietly, and trying to be unobtrusive.

  “And what is it that you told Ms. Danvers?” he asked.

  Hettie repeated what little she knew about the tragic drowning of the Mason boys in 1904, when the raft they were on fell apart on the Cygnet River.

  “It was a long time ago, almost a hundred and twenty years.” Stuart nodded but didn’t comment. “I imagine anything of any value she had in her car had gone,” Hettie said. “I noticed it had been left unlocked.”

  “You all told me yesterday that no one touched the car,” Stuart challenged, leaning forward. “So how did you know it wasn’t locked?”

  “We didn’t touch it,” Hettie replied, “but I saw you open the driver’s side door as we were leaving. Interesting that they left the car if it was a simple mugging gone wrong, Do you know yet how she was killed?”

  “There was evidence at the site that she’d hit her head on one of the gravestones, but the autopsy will uncover any other injuries. Clearly, accident has been ruled out.”

  “Yes, she didn’t bury herself. That’s odd, don’t you think? I mean, that she was buried. Did the person who killed her come with a shovel? Why? Were they planning to dig up something else there, and Alicia disturbed them?”

  “Grave robbers,” Belle said. “Does that even happen anymore?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so,” Hettie replied.

  “A gardener might have tools in their car boot,” Belle said. “The killer may have found them and decided burying her was a better idea.”

  “You did mention she was a horticulturalist, didn’t you? You know, if she’d been buried properly, she would have just ended up as a missing person case. That could have been the idea. Leaving the car there makes sense then, doesn’t it?”

  “Have you two quite finished?” Stuart asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  “Just trying to help, Sergeant,” Hettie said, giving him a cheeky grin. “Can you tell us anything else?”

  “I may as well. You’re going to keep harping away at it anyway, and if you uncover something useful, I expect you to tell me. You will, won’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

 

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