Death in December: Jayne Belmont Mystery Series, #1

By Shonah Stevens

When headmaster James Leibinger finds one of his teachers dead, the police write it off as suicide. After all Dorian Jones had plenty of problems.

However, James is convinced Dorian was murdered, but how can he prove it?

The he remembers a chance encounter with a female private detective – Jayne Belmont. Would she be able to solve this mystery?

Jayne is faced with an entire staff of teachers and an ex-wife who would all like to see the back of Dorian. What's more they all seem to have had opportunity. Jayne slowly narrows down her suspects, but when another body falls to their death and all the suspects were in the same room, the case becomes impossible to solve.

Or does it?

Join Jayne on her ups and downs in this murder mystery set in the city of Palmerston in Australia's torrid Northern Territory where the heat and humidity combine with circumstances to test Jayne's wits almost to breaking point.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shonah Stevens
• Release date: Feb 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386008248

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

An excerpt from the diary of Dorian Jones – November 18th, 2015

... I don't know how much longer I can keep going. I rang Verity today, but there was a message that the number had been disconnected. When I contacted the phone company, they told me the new number was unlisted and they couldn't give it to me. Is she trying to avoid me? I must talk to her – try and convince her that it was all lies. A pack of lies.

James Leibinger knocked for the third time, knowing he would get no answer. He waited a couple of seconds before trying the handle. The door was locked.

He wandered around to the back of the house. Dorian hardly ever locked the place, even when he went out. Sure enough, the bathroom window was open a crack. Leibinger pushed it fully open and heaved himself inside, landing without much dignity in the bathtub.

Hello Dorian! Are you in there mate?

The silence echoed back at him; yet, Leibinger had the odd sensation he could feel Dorian's presence and the cold feeling of dread, which had been with him since this morning, sent tingles of alarm through his body as he made his way towards the kitchen. A stained coffee cup and a couple of plates and teaspoons lay in the sink. Dingy, yellowing, lace curtains framed the view of a small weed infested back yard. Nothing here. He wandered into the lounge. A musty smell assailed his nostrils; the room was dark and depressing. Leibinger pulled back the heavy drapes, letting in a shaft of sunlight. The dust billowed out, causing him to step back hurriedly.

The bedroom was at the end of a long dark passageway. Leibinger moved towards it, reluctance slowing his step. But the room was empty, as was the spare room and bathroom. Leibinger stood for a moment, puzzled. Then, he decided to check the garage; maybe Dorian had gone off somewhere after all.

The car was still there, and Leibinger could just make out a figure in the driver's seat.

What the...?

Impatiently, he strode towards the car and opened the driver's door. Dorian's sightless eyes stared into his. Leibinger's stomach gave a lurch. Dorian's cheeks were puffy and gray, and there was a smell that Leibinger couldn't quite identify...

It was the smell of death.

CHAPTER TWO

Marcus Wingate looked in the mirror to check who would emerge from the other toilet. Actually, he knew quite well who it was, as there were now only two male teachers remaining on the staff of Palmerston High School. The headmaster, James Leibinger, had his own bathroom and toilet en suite to his office. What's more, his had a push-button flush, not one of these ancient pull chain things the rest of the staff had to contend with. He spun around as the door opened.

Ah, Vella! Bad luck about Dorian eh?

Russell Vella sniffed. He was a tall lanky man in his late fifties with longish white hair and a bony expressive face which now wore a look of acute disdain.

Surely it didn't surprise you? I expected something like this to happen. Vella turned on the tap, which clanked and oozed out a trickle of light brown water. I said to Angela just the other day, 'I wouldn't be surprised if Dorian does something stupid!'

He must have cracked under the strain, Wingate mused. Poor fellow. He was under a lot of pressure.

Vella eyed his associate in the mirror as he dried his hands. He brought it on himself, so don't waste your sympathy, Wingate. I've always said the man was a bloody poof! I mean look at the way he acted, more feminine than half the women I know! And the poetry! Well, I ask you ...

You may be right about him being gay, allowed Wingate. But surely you don't believe that he molested those boys ...

I do believe it. Oh, yes. Absolutely! It was guilt that made our little fairy friend top himself. And what's more, if he hadn't, I reckon he'd have died of AIDS before the year was out.

With a spectacular toss of the head, Vella made his exit leaving Wingate slightly shocked, but also amused. Vella was a bigot, that was for sure, but the theatrical way he expressed his views often tended to generate more amusement than offense.

Marcus Wingate leaned towards the mirror and flicked a minuscule piece of fluff from his new plum-colored shirt. Pulling out his comb, he flicked back his dark blonde hair until it was arranged to his satisfaction. Casting a final look of approval at his good looking image, he left the bathroom with a swinging step. It would be interesting to see what happened next and what the police would make of it.

#

Well, I think it's dreadful. I can't believe it! Angela Farrantino held the staffroom door for her fellow teacher Ruth Rumbold to enter. Now stop looking so sour-faced, Ruth. I know you didn't like him, but surely you must feel something? Oh dear, I don't know how I'm going to get through the rest of the day!

You'll be all right. Just calm down. Ruth Rumbold lowered her not inconsiderable weight onto an old armchair which sagged in silent protest. Fussing around won't bring him back you know.

Oh Ruth, surely you can't still hate him? Especially now he's dead?

Ruth heaved a deep sigh; it seemed Angela was not going to let it go. Once she got something in her head, she clung onto it for dear life like a dog with a bone, and nothing could stop the inevitable debate that would now ensue. Being dead has nothing to do with it, she said. He was as weak as water, and I have no respect for people like that. I'm not going to suddenly start singing his praises just because he's gone and knocked himself off, am I?

Angela Farrantino felt a surge of anger.