“So do the Sandridges,” Hettie said. “At least one of the younger family members has a business there.”

  “Yes, they do. Anyway, I wanted to ask if you’d come with me to speak to Cynthia Bailey.”

  “Oh? Why do you need me to come with you?”

  Belle hesitated. “Well, there has been a murder, hasn’t there? All the mystery and crime shows make it clear you shouldn’t go snooping around on your own.”

  “Are we snooping?”

  “What if one of those families, the Leadworths or the Sandridges, are part of Alicia’s family tree after all? And what if one of them was afraid that Alicia could be about to claim a share in what they have? Neither of those two families are poor. That’s a motive for murder, isn’t it?”

  Hettie couldn’t argue with that.

  Chapter Eight

  The Non-Investigation Begins

  “Turn our backs on you for five minutes and you’re off finding dead bodies,” Gwen said, exasperation at a high level. “How in heaven do you do it?”

  Hettie handed her sister-in-law a glass of red wine and poured one for herself.

  “As long as finding other people’s bodies is all she does,” Violet said, putting plates and cutlery on the dining room table. There was lasagne in the oven and Hettie’s green salad on the counter awaiting its dressing.

  Hettie gave Gwen a look. See what you’ve done now? You’ve worried Vi. Gwen took a sip of wine and kept silent.

  “She wasn’t on her own, though, Vi,” Larry said. “Apparently three other people were there too.”

  “You seem to know a lot about it,” Hettie said. “And if anyone is counting, it’s actually the only body I’ve found. Other people found the other bodies.”

  “You just got involved in finding the killer.”

  “I’m not involved in finding this one.”

  “Mruff.”

  “See? Ceefer knows I’m not involved.”

  Gwen eyed him suspiciously. “We know a bit about it because we were in Denmark on Sunday,” she said. “It was the talk of the town.”

  “Good. You need to tell the police what you learnt then. Now tell us what else you did on your holiday. Did you go on the tingle treetop walk? Are the wildflowers out yet? Do you want dinner?”

  Fortunately, Gwen could take a hint, especially when it was delivered strongly enough. Five minutes later they were joined by Aunt Alice, and Elly and Rafe, and the girls.

  The rest of the evening was spent chatting over dinner about holidays and viewing the plethora of photos Gwen and Larry had taken with their phones.

  When that topic was exhausted, Hettie told them of the planned Open Day at the Club.

  “That sounds like fun, Mum,” Elly said. “Do you want any help? I could design some posters.”

  “I hadn’t even thought of that,” Hettie said. “Could you do them by the end of the week, though? I have handouts going to the printers. The posters could get done at the same time.”

  “Sure. I just need the dates, and the details of what’s happening.”

  “I’ll send that to you now,” Hettie said, pulling out her phone.

  “We can put a poster up in the office,” Gwen offered.

  “And in the Cafe, of course,” Vi said.

  “I’m putting an advert in the Record, too,” Hettie said, looking up from the text message she was sending Elly. “Could you design that for me as well, Elly?”

  “Sure, Mum.”

  “Make sure you let Jack and Mum know about it,” Larry said, spearing another olive. “And Pearl and Max. They won’t hear about it through croquet channels, and they’ll feel you’re not keeping them in the loop if they learn of it through an advertisement or a poster.”

  Larry was right. This recent murder had distracted her, despite not really being involved in it.

  “Oh. I just had a thought,” she said now. “I was going to have our Croquetwest president open the new courts, but do you think I should ask Dad or Callie to do it?”

  “Now, that is a good idea,” Gwen said. “I vote for Callie.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt,” Larry agreed.

  “Grandma loves to be the centre of things,” Elly put in.

  “Yes, she certainly does,” Aunt Alice murmured.

  Well, you couldn’t please everyone, was Hettie’s thought on that. She made a mental note to call on her mother next day and deliver the invitation in person. And to update her list of things to do. And talk to Romola. She hit send for her text message to Elly. That was done anyway.

  Everyone left for their respective homes shortly after. Well, almost everyone. Gwen and Larry lingered.

  “No more evasion. I want to hear everything that’s been going on,” Gwen said.

  Hettie sighed. There was no getting around it. She spent the next twenty minutes describing finding the body, talking to the police on Sunday, talking to the Feldhursts, talking to Belle, and talking to Marlee. What she didn’t say was what she and Belle were going to be doing tomorrow. Gwen was just as likely to want to want to join in and Hettie couldn’t see how that would be a good thing, because they weren’t investigating the murder. They were investigating the family history.

  “So, what did you hear down in Denmark?” Hettie asked instead.

  “We heard quite a few comments about the big bad city,” Gwen said, “and how this would never have happened if she’d stayed at home. But there was also an undercurrent that hinted she probably brought it on herself. I got the feeling Alicia Feldhurst wasn’t the most popular person in town.”

  “Oh, in what way?”

  “We were there for barely twenty-four hours, you know. We didn’t have time to get her whole life story. But I heard one person say Jackson might enjoy life a little more with his wife gone.”

  “Most men probably feel that way at some point,” Larry put in, very unwisely. He clearly wasn’t as interested in Alicia Feldhurst’s murder as his wife.

  “Did you hear anything?” Gwen asked.

  “Not a thing,” Hettie said. “Anyway, the police will be checking on Jackson. His credit cards might show evidence of petrol bought on the day. Or he was having an affair and getting rid of Alicia was less expensive than a divorce. They do have a business together. Anyway, I’m not investigating.”

  “Says you.”

  “Merroow.” Ceefer lifted his head and glared at Gwen.

  “What did I say?”

  “I don’t think he likes this murder,” Hettie said. “He doesn’t seem to want anything to do with it.”

  “Mruff.”

  “Okay. I get the message, Ceef,” Hettie soothed. “And despite what Gwen thinks, I’m not investigating.”

  “I’ll want a full reporting during the week,” Gwen said, as Hettie saw her and Larry out at the back door.

  “You’ll be disappointed then,” Hettie replied. “There won’t be anything to tell.”

  She could still hear Gwen laughing as she and Larry crossed Elly’s backyard to their own.

  Belle’s little electric car purred quietly down West Swan Road next morning past vineyards, horse paddocks, wineries, farm buildings converted to restaurants, purpose-built eateries, wedding venues, and small groupings of retail premises that serviced them, some looking more prosperous than others. And lots of open space and blue sky. Belle had made an appointment for ten o’clock to speak to Cynthia Bailey.

  “So, no questions about alibis, or whereabouts, or motives for Alicia’s murder. We can discuss it if they raise the matter, but no accusations,” Hettie was saying. “We’re investigating Lily Mason’s life not her granddaughter’s murder.”

  “Absolutely,” Belle agreed. “And here we are at Bailey’s Bistro.”

  A grey Commodore was just pulling out of the driveway of the Bailey’s property as they slowed to enter the place. Hettie only saw the back of the driver’s head, as he turned in the opposite direction, heading toward Perth, but she was sure it was Grayson’s car.

  The police must be following up on Alicia’s contacts. Even if her laptop was missing, Keira had said she had her research stored on One Drive. More to the point right now, how would they be received by the Bailey’s if the police had just questioned them about her murder? It didn’t take long to find out.

  A man of middle age stood watching as they pulled up in the restaurant carpark. He scowled as Hettie and Belle got out of the car.

  “We’ve just been questioned by the police, and now you’ve come to harass my mother with more stupid questions,” he said, without waiting to ascertain if they were who he thought they were.

  “Hello. I’m Belle Danvers,” Belle told him politely. “Your mother agreed to talk to me. We’re nothing to do with the police and we’ve no intention of harassing anyone.”

  “Just make sure you don’t, or you’ll answer to me. She’s in the house.” He indicated a building at the far end of the car park, partly obscured by a screen of bottlebrush and grevillea shrubs, not yet in flower.

  “Alicia mentioned Cynthia’s son, Leighton, in her research,” Belle said, as she and Hettie made their way down the car park, and around the edge of the garden to the front door of the house. “That must be him. A murder suspect, do you think?”

  “The police must think so,” Hettie said. She hadn’t looked behind, but she was sure he’d watched them walk away based on the prickling on the back of her neck.

  “Just as well we’re not investigating a murder, then,” Belle said. “We’re just gathering information about a family history.”

  Which could have led to murder, Hettie wanted to say, but didn’t. Belle’s knock was answered by a harried-looking woman in her fifties who opened the door to them.

  “You won’t upset her, will you?” she said, when Belle introduced them both. “I’ve just got her settled again after that policeman finished with her. Why they thought we’d know anything about that woman’s death, I don’t know. We’d never even met her.”

  “We certainly won’t upset her on purpose,” Belle assured her.

  “I suppose that’s as much as one can expect these days,” came the mumbled reply. “I’m Marion, by the way, Leighton’s wife. Cynthia’s my mother-in-law.” Hettie and Belle nodded acknowledgement.

  Cynthia Bailey proved to be a small stick of a woman in a wheelchair. She could have been a hundred, but Hettie knew from Alicia’s research she was in her mid eighties. One thing was certain. She hadn’t been hanging around a cemetery waiting to kill Alicia. She looked as if a slight breeze would blow her away.

  “I hope you two will be able to understand what I tell you about Lily Mason,” Cynthia said in a thready voice, when Belle and Hettie had introduced themselves again, and were seated on the sofa near her wheelchair. “Because that Alicia woman didn’t seem to when I spoke to her.” She coughed.

  “Do you need your throat lozenges?” Marion asked.

  Cynthia waved a hand. “No, no. Fetch us some tea. You’ll have tea, won’t you.” Hettie didn’t feel she could ask for coffee when Belle simply said, yes, that would be lovely. “I missed my earlier cup because of that policeman. I wasn’t offering him anything, asking all those impertinent questions about where everyone was on Friday, and what they were doing. Now,” she said, as Marion left the room to attend to the tea, “I can’t give you much time after that earlier visit. My energy runs out quickly these days.”

  “We appreciate whatever time you can give us,” Belle assured her.

  “Yes, well, what you need to know is that Lily Mason was not a Leadworth, despite the name on her birth certificate, courtesy of my grandmother, Rhona Leadworth. When Lily’s mother died giving birth to her, Rhona took the baby in and raised her. Not that she got any thanks for it, mind.”

  “So Poppy Mason died in childbirth,” Belle clarified.

  “That’s what I just said. She’d already lost her two boys, and she was exhausted with grief and hopelessness, according to Rhona. Chester Mason blamed Dad for the accident too, though he was only twelve himself at the time, but it was his raft that fell apart. My father was plagued with nightmares about that day for the rest of his life. Chester never wanted anything to do with Lily. Reminded him of Poppy she did. He left the Station after Poppy died and no one ever saw him again.”

  “Did the Leadworths adopt Lily?” Hettie popped the question in quickly as Cynthia paused to wipe her mouth with a tissue.

  “Not officially. This was a long time ago and they were a long way from the city. She’s probably lucky her birth was registered, but life would have been difficult for her later if it weren’t. No, Rhona thought it would save a lot of trouble if Lily was a Leadworth, but at least she put Mason as well. I think really, she was afraid they’d take her away and put her in some orphanage.”

  “So, Lily knew she wasn’t a Leadworth?” Belle asked.

  “Eventually. It’s why she ran away. Marion.” Cynthia raised her voice. “Where’s that tea?”

  Chapter Nine

  The Leadworth Story

  “It’s just coming, Mother,” Marion called appearing at that moment with a tray with teapot and cups which she placed on the low table in front of them. She poured a cup and placed it on the little table attached to Cynthia’s wheelchair.

  “She ran away?” Hettie questioned, accepting a cup from Marion with a thank you. That wasn’t mentioned in Alicia’s notes.

  “That’s what I said,” Cynthia replied, taking up the biscuit Marion placed on the edge of her saucer. “Someone told her she wasn’t a Leadworth, and when she asked Rhona about it, and learnt who she really was, she ran off to the city. Although Perth could barely be called a city back then.”

  “That would have been around 1919,” Belle confirmed.

  “Something like that.” Cynthia dunked the biscuit in her tea and just got it to her mouth before it fell apart.

  “Did you know Alicia Feldhurst was going to be at Woody Lake at the weekend?” Hettie asked.

  “No, why should I?” Cynthia replied, mopping biscuit off her chin with a tissue. “I’ve only spoken to her once, on the phone, and that was months ago. What sort of story is she writing about Lily anyway?”

  “Well, it’s basically Lily’s life story,” Belle said. “I can give you a copy of the timeline I drew up from her research.” Belle drew a sheet from her folder and handed it to Cynthia. Marion moved to stand beside her mother-in-law to read it with her. There was murmuring as they pored over it.

  “Look, Mother,” Marion said pointing. “Sandridges. Do you think Lily was just down the road all that time?”

  Hettie and Belle exchanged a quick glance.

  “We thought she was working for the Sandridges in Dalkeith,” Hettie said.

  “The old lady lived in Dalkeith,” Cynthia said, “but one of the boys, Matthew, lived here in the Valley. His son, James, has the place now. James and Tina. It’s the same as ours, vineyard, and restaurant. I think they have some cabins they rent out, too. Or at least they used to. The Sandridges had a finger in a lot of pies, back in the day, but it’s the grandchildren who run it all now.”

  “I’m hoping to talk to the Sandridges about Lily,” Belle said.

  “Good luck with that,” was Cynthia’s murmured comment. Interesting. Hettie didn’t think the Sandridges were standoffish. Was there a bit of competition between the two families regarding business?

  “There’s also mention of a diary in Alicia’s research. It belonged to Poppy Mason, and it covered the time the boys drowned, but Alicia hadn’t been able to find it. Do you have it, or know anything about it?”

  “Poppy Mason’s diary?” Cynthia repeated. “I seem to remember her asking about that too. Where did that idea come from? When Poppy died and Chester left, Rhona cleared out their cottage and saved the papers she found there. There wasn’t much. She left the papers with Dad. If Rhona found a diary, she didn’t pass it on to him.”

  “What papers did she find in the Mason’s cottage?” Belle wanted to know.

  “Marion, hand me that folder on the table,” Cynthia told the woman. Marion picked up a thin, buff-coloured manila folder from the dining table on the other side of the room and handed it to Cynthia who held it out to Belle.

  Belle took the folder and opened it. Inside were the marriage certificate of Penelope Walters and Chester Mason, dated 12 February 1897; birth certificates for the two boys, Oliver, and Charles; and a sheet showing that Poppy, Chester, and Oliver travelled from Liverpool to Australia in 1901 on the SS Runic.

  “But no diary?” Hettie questioned again.

  Cynthia shook her head. “Rhona lived here with us for the last ten years of her life. She never made any mention of a diary in my hearing, though I was only a child at the time. Perhaps she gave it to Lily. That would make sense, wouldn’t it?”

  Belle and Hettie had to agree it would, though Hettie wondered why Rhona wouldn’t have given Lily all the Mason papers, but then she thought it might have been because the rest were official documents and Rhona felt they would be safer with her.

  “Rhona had a great many stories about the Cygnet River station and the people who lived and worked there,” Cynthia said. “She and my grandfather moved to the city when they sold the place, but when he died, she came here. It was a cattle station back then, before it went to sheep, and then dairy cows. Not that she was around to see all that. She remembered it as it used to be.”

  “Did Chester Mason work for the Leadworths?” Hettie asked.

  Cynthia nodded. “Parke was your name, wasn’t it?” she asked Hettie now. “Are you a Parke by birth, or did you marry into the family.”

  “Jack and Callie Parke are my parents. Do you know them?”

  “I knew your grandparents. Florrie was a lovely young woman back in the day. They did well for themselves, turning that dairy farm into housing. I preferred the place as it was. We used to ride our horses over that way. I don’t know why things have to change so much. The place is overrun with people these days.”

  Hettie couldn’t help wondering how she equated her family’s successful business with that idea. Without people there’d be no one to drink their wine or eat in their restaurant.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12