One Jaded Rose: A Nic Thorn Caper

By James Byron Books

One jaded Rose is a light-hearted caper, the first in the series written by James Byron Books. Rose needed a plus-one, but not for the usual wedding or party. She was going to a funeral and needed a quiet, unassuming type, but when Nic Thorn arrived, he was anything but a wallflower. Rose and her BFF, Sandy, have time on their hands, and soon find that Nic will fill the void. He coerces them into his madcap investigations of scams, frauds and misunderstandings. This modern-day adventure leads them from one lively caper to another, involving portrait provenance, invoice inaccuracy, and a recycler's relapse, on their travels from Brisbane to Adelaide and across the South Australian border.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Nov 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9780228837749

James Byron Books

The author is a long-term banker by profession, and a lifetime musician, songwriter and inveterate dreamer. His writing is a creative escape that he needs to keep his mind active and fingers supple, ready to write his next caper, penned as James Byron Books. The author lives in South Australia in a renovated church, with a very shy cat. He has been fortunate to have visited many places that are worthy of a peek, and enjoys including them in these stories.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Rosemary Palmer was standing on the wrap-around balcony of her Queenslander in the leafy Brisbane suburb of Hamilton. She heard it before she saw it, the growling throb of a Ford Mustang crawling down her street. Oh, please don’t let it be him she thought, she really needed her +1 to be quiet and conservative, but her hopes were dashed as it came to a slow stop outside her home. Damn.

The driver seemed to be taking an extra-ordinarily long time to exit the car and the darkened windows made it even more difficult to catch a glimpse of him. Finally he exited, but he didn’t look up to where she was standing, rather, he walked around to the back of the car and extracted a bouquet of Lisianthus from the boot. At least he has read my Vita Brevis dating profile, she thought, as she watched him walk to the front gate.

Giving him the once over from her makeshift citadel, she was initially satisfied that the handsome dark-haired man dressed in the standard ‘Australian cocky’ attire might just do at such short notice. She guessed him to be mid 30’s, about 1.9m, around 110kgs, and he wore the chinos, blue twill shirt and checked wool blazer rather well, maybe too well. He seemed to be struggling with the flower arrangement, front gate and intercom system, though, so she called out, and he looked up at her.

Rose then called down to the gardener. I’ve got this Mr Croud. This gentleman is here to meet with me. The gardener waved an acknowledgement.

Rose looked back at her guest, and he smiled at her. Did his eyes just sparkle? Maybe he was just squinting into the sun. Yes, that was definitely it. He was definitely squinting into the sun.

Are you Rose? he called as he waited patiently at the gate for her to arrive. When she opened the gate and he stepped through, he said Nice, but she didn’t know if he was referring to her sprawling Hamilton home, or if it was directed at her.

Nicolas Thorn. Call me Nic though. Pleased to meet you. This house is impressive. Have you been here long? he introduced himself.

It’s my family home. Well, it’s really owned by the Family Trust and all that stuff. I stay here when my folks are away. Otherwise Mr & Mrs Croud, the live-in gardener and housekeeper, are always here. My parents will be back later this afternoon from their trip down to the Gold Coast. They were checking out… She stopped mid-sentence thinking that he didn’t need to know any of that, and she only needed to know if he was free for this afternoon’s +1 event.

Your dating profile does not match your—well, it doesn’t do you justice, Rose.

Rose looked at him, wondering if that was a bad thing or a good thing.

So tell me about this +1 thing. Wedding, engagement, drinks at work? Am I getting warmer?

‘Well, no, actually. I need you to come with me to a funeral, then the wake, and then a will reading. It’ll be interesting to say the least. He was a good friend and true gentleman."

Ok, I haven’t been on a date to that type of thing before. It could make for a curious outing.

It’s not a date. You’re my +1 for the afternoon, that’s all, Rose responded abruptly, as she led him through the front garden, into the house, and then the kitchen area. The housekeeper was attending to the morning chores, and they stopped at the kitchen table.

Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "Sorry Mr Thorn. I’m a bit nervous about all of this dating stuff, and I tend to talk too much when I get nervous. So, coffee or tea… What would you like? Mrs Croud will get that for you. And tell me more about yourself? What do you do, and why are you using the Vita Brevis dating app?"

Chai tea if you have it, and yep will do, but first I need to find a vase for these. He then proceeded to open kitchen cabinets looking for a suitable receptacle for the flowers.

You’re very confident, aren’t you Mr Thorn? Just put them in the sink. Mrs Croud will deal with them later. I need to find out what, if any, skeletons you may have in your closet—or personality traits that I need to be aware of—if you are going to spend the afternoon with me and my family. Do you live in Brisbane? Do you work? Are you married?

Well, ‘confident’ is my middle name, so you didn’t read my Vita Brevis profile at all did you? he replied. Then he added, Yes, Yes and No. All good questions though. Firstly, I am living in Brisbane at the moment, as I have a small apartment in Southbank. Do I work…? Well, that is complicated. I like Vita Brevis for the pictures, and to know my competition. Sorry what was the other question?

Are you married?

Well… no.

Rose wondered why he had hesitated with that response, but let it go for the moment.

So what time does this shindig start then? I’m happy to be your white knight on a steed if it suits.

Rose rolled her eyes, You don’t have a suit of armour, a steed or a horse.

"A steed is a horse, but I do have a white pony: the Mustang out the front has all the horsepower that I will ever need."

Good grief.

Nic went on to explain his complicated work situation. Well, I buy stuff, I sell stuff, I find stuff, I lose stuff, and do stuff. That’s about it. Tell me a little more about yourself Rose, like, I don’t know, do you hold a grudge or anything like that?

Well, my father says that I am immature. I hold resentment toward my mother, and in fact I don’t like being around them much at all.

Whoa, Ok, duly noted. Do you work then?

At the moment, no. I did have a part share in a retail couture and coffee shop outlet, but that closed down when they did the upgrade along Kingsford Smith Drive, at Brett’s Wharf. It was called ‘The She Shed.’ We lost too much foot traffic, so decided to shut down for a while instead of relocating, until we decide where to go to next.

We? We who?

My Uncle Albert’s niece Sandy, and me. It’s his funeral that we’re going to this afternoon, if you can make it. It was his money too that was in the shop, but it is all gone now. The banks took it back.

All banks are bastards, and all men too, Nic commented quietly whilst sipping on his tea.

Righto then. If you’re good to do this, can you pick me up around 3? The funeral starts at 4, then the wake is straight afterwards. It’s in the same place. We’ll have to do a short walk down Eagle Street to the lawyer’s office at Riparian Plaza for the will reading though.

Where’s the funeral service? In the city?

Yes, at the Marriott Hotel. Don’t ask how Uncle Albert managed that. He always was a bit eccentric. I assume the cost is all coming out of his estate, what’s left of it anyway.

Ok, that suits me fine. I’ll re-arrange a couple of things, but will pick you up here just before 3. I have to make a drop off in the city myself, so that will work.

Rose looked at him, pondering about them arriving in the Mustang together. Can you pick me up in something a little less, you know, showy? Do you have another car?

Sure can, as that is one of the things I’ll need to change. The other car I have is about 50 years old, and may not be as comfortable as the Mustang.

Nic finished his tea, washed the cup out in the sink and wiped it dry, plonked the flowers in a mason jar, put them on the dining table, placed the tea cup back in the cupboard, shook her hand, showed himself out, and left her there standing alone in the kitchen.

Who was that man of mystery, and where was the mild mannered ‘Clark Kent’ type, which she really needed as her +1 instead?

Rose was again standing outside on the balcony waiting. It was just before 3, and she thought that Nic wasn’t going to turn up.

A mid 50’s silver Mercedes 300SL came slowly down the street. She knew a little about cars as her father had a small selection stored underneath the house, and knew it had to be worth in excess of $1M. It stopped out front of her place, the gullwing door opened, and Nic climbed out. He was dressed all in black this time. She assumed it was Armani and wondered, who even wears Armani to a funeral?

Nice, he commented looking up at her, and Rose felt it was to her that he was referring to this time.

I asked for something less showy, Mr Thorn, and that is definitely not less showy.

It is over 50 years old, Miss Palmer. The doors don’t work properly, the windows don’t quite shut and it is a manual. You wanted less showy than the Mustang? This is it.

Rose reviewed the majestic car, and then Nic actually asked her to do a twirl in her pale blue and pink chiffon dress. It was then she realised he had been taking pictures of the car and was admiring that more than her, and he proceeded to take more photos of it with his phone.

Is it yours, Mr Thorn?

Not quite, but please call me Nic, and can I call you Rose? Jump in and I will explain on the way. I did have to fix it up a little bit, though. A few little changes here and there.

Rose carefully stepped in and waited for more of an explanation, however he only responded with, "It’s not mine, but I do know how much this one sold for."

Not wanting to pursue it any further, she started to explain why she needed a +1 for Uncle Albert’s funeral. My family are a little different Nic. We are Palmers.

"Whoa—as in the Mr Palmer?"

"Not The Palmers of Queensland, but still Palmers after all, Nic. Maybe somewhere distantly there could be a cross over, but I have never bothered to find out. The name’s the same, but we’re not really related. My parents have made their money, not just inherited it. I mean they’re not in the top echelon of Brisbane society, but sometimes we all get to breathe the rarefied air."

Rose stopped talking, closed her eyes and enjoyed the drive in the Mercedes. It was over all too soon, though, as they had reached their destination having just come through the Valley. They missed the Marriott turn off, and were a little further down Eagle St when she saw a man standing on the road, in the middle of the traffic.

What’s he waiting for? What a stupid place to stand.

Actually he’s waiting for me to deliver this car to him.

Nic stopped the car against the kerb, though Rose knew it was a ‘No Standing Zone.’

We have to go into the bank to do the payment transfer, so would you mind staying in the car until we come back? If a brown bomber comes along just do your best to convince him that you don’t know anything about it, and are just waiting for help. You know, the old damsel in distress trick, and dressed like that I don’t think you will have any trouble convincing him.

What if the parking inspector is a her? I’m not very good at all this type of stuff Nic.

I’m sure you’ll manage, just trust me, but I would still just get out of the car anyway, Nic commented as he bounded down to the meet with the prospective buyer/owner, whatever the anxious looking man was. Rose thought she would be anxious too, if she just saw her newly purchased $1M+ car being driven through Brisbane city traffic. Then she watched as they entered the bank.

Brushing down the light chiffon dress trying to take the creases out, Rose allowed herself to feel pretty. After all, being able to buy off the rack was easy when you still had your youthful shape, and access to couture stock at wholesale prices.

She was miles away in thought when someone rapped softly on the car window. Pulling herself out of her reverie, she looked at who was making the intrusion. It was a parking inspector, and as they were still parked on a yellow line in Eagle Street, knew she was in trouble. Damn you Nic.

She smiled at the man, then upon second look she decided it might be a woman, and attempted to open the gullwing door then realised she didn’t actually know how to. She raised her palms with a defeated gesture, but the woman still wanted her to step out of the car anyway. Damn it Nic, where are you?

Finally, Nic was coming towards her. He was all smiles and chummy with the buyer/ owner, and she knew that they had not yet realised the dilemma with the parking inspector, so she pressed on the horn. It sounded like a soft whine, instead of the musical note Eb that the pre-1960’s Mercedes are known for. Finally Nic saw her, jogged up to the car and let her out, all the while maintaining his ‘business