Ms Seagreen's Deep Forest Cozy: Can't See The Woods For The Mysteries

By A. J. Henry

A woman's journey ends in a place where small-town suspicion begins...
Hankering to finish her artwork in the backwoods of logging country, Sabine Seagreen discovers her small-town harbors dark intrigue. A body has been unearthed in the forest. Sabine and her newfound fur baby become mixed up in a most baffling situation. The 'ferals', camped out in the woods, are prime suspects. But when Sabine befriends one of the conservation activists, she has a gut feeling something sinister is at play. Read this tale of enduring friendship amid double-dealing in the majestic wilderness of southern Tasmania.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. J. Henry
• Release date: Mar 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9780648579038

A. J. Henry

A. J. Henry lives in Queensland, Australia. He has several short stories published in various anthologies and is finishing the second novel in this series.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

As the time grew closer, Sabine Seagreen, soon to be Aldercott, saw her hopes fade for her wedding day to be a happy one.  Her mother would not be there. Sabine's mother was against the nuptials from the start. Her mother hated Brian for reasons Sabine did not understand. Perhaps it was his age; he was just three years younger than her mother.

At nineteen, Sabine knew marrying the older man would incur gossip. The twenty-one-year gap between them marked a generational difference but one Sabine was comfortable with. She was not like her friends. She was never one for reckless exuberance. The escapades of her peers held little interest for her. Sabine never found the thought of sleeping in a pup tent at an outdoor music festival giddy from drugs and alcohol as a thing she would like to do. While her friends ventured to far-flung Patagonia to climb wind sheared slopes, Sabine was happy with her watercolor pencils. Brian understood. He indulged her with gifts: cold pressed one-hundred percent cotton paper with flawless texture, imported and expensive. Brian declared she deserved the best and Sabine reveled in his admiration of her work. 

Brian Aldercott was the sole owner of Aldercott Blookstock Pty Ltd. The company was a thoroughbred breeding stable, one of the largest in Queensland. His company also owned a sister stable on the South Island of New Zealand. Sabine knew little about horses. Brian, on the other hand, had been with the animals most of his life. Sabine marveled at his knowledge—not just shiny coats and floating manes—it was more than that. He observed things only horse owners knew to look for. He not only saw his horses as magnificent creatures, but was attuned to other inherent qualities. Sabine recalled a time at the rails watching one being led by a groomsman back to the enclosure. Brian ducked under the barrier and entered the track much to the surprise of the young chap leading the animal who pulled it to a halt.

Perhaps it was in the way Brian approached the horse, the familiar confidence in greeting the animal. The thoroughbred, guarded, nostrils flaring at his approach, soon relaxed on hearing reassuring tones of his voice. After ruffling the horse's mane, Brian ran his hand down the hind quarters to cup the fetlock joint. Calling for the animal to lift its leg, it obliged as obedient as a dog to its master. Gripping the front of the hoof, he worked it up and down against the pastern in what Sabine imagined was an ankle. The horse laid down its ears and pulled its leg away. Brian jumped to shift his feet in fear the animal might stomp on him. The horse swung its head and took a lunging bite. Such vengeance would have annoyed many trainers, but Brian was not troubled. If anything, he was understanding as though through some kind of bond between man and beast saw communication beyond words. He went to the horse to console it, to show he meant no harm. Brian told the groomsman to alert the vet when she arrives, pointing to the pastern and cornet of the horses' hind leg.

Brian explained to Sabine that horses were not pets but athletic animals who perform to maximum ability. They need constant attention. He compared thoroughbreds to champion tennis players, excitable and moody.

Perhaps it was their shared love of animals that started their love for each other, a communion her mother did not see, nor accept.

Sabine's mother Paula had hopes for her only child. She saw in Sabine a talent she never had. Her mother wanted to be a dancer. When Sabine was young, she would wait for her mother to arrive at the breakfast table, hobbling into the kitchen on stiff legs. It took hours of hot towels and lineaments to loosen her ligaments and regain normal movement, much to the annoyance of Sabine's father who wanted her mother to give up dancing.

When Sabine announced her engagement to Brian, her mother was inconsolable. She declared the man wanted a trophy wife, someone to parade around the winner's circle like a prize pony. She could see no future in the relationship and urged Sabine to reconsider. In a macabre twist this edict by her mother came true.

After the wedding, almost within hours, Sabine received a terse text saying, gone to Italy, indefinite holiday. Her mother was away for more than two years. It was as though she disappeared from Sabine's life in the same way her father vanished when Sabine was eleven.

The racing industry was a complicated machine, Brian once told her. The only ones he could trust were the horses. He said it after receiving ‘Notice’ from the State’s Racing Integrity Commission. His long-time trainer Barry McBride was ‘Warned Off’.

McBride was popular in the racing fraternity. His nickname was Bundoolah; a cry he bellowed from the mounting yard after one of his horses crossed the winning line. A flamboyant fellow in contrast to the conservative league of horse trainers.

The conditions under Local Rules of Racing were severe. A disqualification by the Stewards or a Principal Racing Authority meant McBride could neither enter a racecourse or train a horse.

It was a blow to Aldercott Bloodstock. Worse yet the embargo tarnished Brian’s reputation. A sample taken from one of the horses after a race showed traces of Dexamethasone, a prohibited substance. Horse doping attracted media attention and created more headaches for Brian.

As the stud owner took his place in front of the tribunal, he looked unwell. The hearing convened to allow him to show cause for overturning the ban.

Sabine asked to go with him for moral support. Brian outright refused. She could only think he was flustered by the incident, betrayed by someone he trusted. When the company executive stood in front of the Stewards his face was pale, sweat rimmed his shirt collar.

Brian Aldercott never got to plead his case. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell, much to the horror of those present.

Three short years into her marriage, and fate took a cruel twist. Although rushed to hospital, they could not revive him. The doctor who informed Sabine of Brian's passing had a beard and wore and indigo dastaar. He outlined the problem in a manner much the same way as a motor mechanic explains the need for new brakes. A blood clot in Mr. Aldercott's leg made its way into the coronary artery and interrupted the flow of blood destroying his heart muscle. He finished by declaring Mr. Aldercott died from a myocardial infraction and he was very sorry for her loss. 

During the days after Brian’s death, Sabine wandered their family home going for room to room hoping for what? She did not know. There was no purpose other than to keep moving. She drank water from the kitchen tap and scavenged crumbs from whatever was open, but even that seemed pointless. Neither did she look after herself. She didn't shower. Constipation knotted her stomach. Sabine trudged until exhaustion saw her collapse onto a sofa for a few hours of peace.

Neither did she answer phone calls that punctuated the day and night. Cards and mail spilled from the letterbox slot. Couriers delivered flowers that were left to rot by the front door. Sabine should have reached out to friends but she shut them out just as she closed down most things after the message.

A text arrived from her mother.

It said, I warned you it would not end well.

Sabine opened a top floor window, tore out the fly screen, and tossed her phone away.

As days crawled past, bit by bit, the fog of anguish lifted. She wondered about Brian’s funeral. She recalled signing forms at the hospital but did not know what it was for. Had someone taken charge? Where was her husband’s resting place? Why doesn’t anyone tell her?

Anger and resentment stirred in the place of self-pity.

It was three weeks to the day after her husband Brian Aldercott passed away that a man arrived at the front door. Sabine's grief had eased from numbing hurt to dull regret. She had not touched his things, could not find courage enough to sort through them. Brian's suits hung in the wardrobe as they had on the day he left. Her one concession to the sadness, the anguish that overran her life as rampaging weeds strangle a flower bed, was moving to a spare room. She decorated it as her own avoiding that shared with Brian. It was her way of moving on.

The man at the front door announced his name. Sabine could not recall it, now. He was an authorized officer of the court appointed as bailiff to serve notice. He went on to say the property was seized and to be sold. He peeled away backing paper from a notice and stuck it to the front door.

Sabine did not understand. This was her home. No one could take it. The bailiff stepped away from the door step and stood on the lawn as though to make it clear he was not going away. Sabine recognized the names on the order, a court document in the name Brian's adult children. They applied to the courts to take her house.

Sabine asked the man how long had this order been placed. He did not say but told her she must leave now. She argued that it was not fair, that they had no right to do this to her. The bailiff advised she could go to a solicitor and apply for a suspension order, but for now, she must vacate the premises. 

Sabine was to take only her personal things, everything else must stay in the property. She hated the way the man called her home a property, as though it was now a commodity that no one loved. She pushed her clothes into plastic garbage bags and piled them into the back of the Toyota Land Cruiser. No sooner had she started the engine, when the bailiff banged on the side window. He asked if the vehicle was hers or belonged to the estate? He said he needed to call the executor to clarify the vehicle's status. As he made the call, Sabine stepped on the gas and took off. 

If the Aldercott children wanted the car, they could chase her for it.

CHAPTER TWO

Speeding down the M1 , not caring if speed cameras caught her or not, Sabine decided there and then to use her maiden name. From now on she was Seagreen, not Aldercott. Seagreen was also the name registered in her Credit Union savings account. An account opened before she married and never changed it. At times, over the few months they had together, Brian gave her money to place with bookmakers. When she collected the winnings, and handed them to him, he grinned. He patted her hand holding the money and told her to keep it safe. It was as though winning was his pleasure and money not important. During their marriage her Credit Union account had accrued a sizeable amount, not a fortune, but enough. She thought she could use the money to challenge the will. The legal costs would be considerable but she would gain her share of the estate which would be millions. In the end, Sabine resigned to the fact she was not a fighter, never had been. She ran, driving on highways to lead her far away, to distance herself from the place but more mostly from memories of her life in Queensland.

Now, as she stood on the passenger deck of the MV Spirit of Tasmania rolling into the powerful swell of Bass Straight, she understood the tyranny of distance. Wind wiped hair across her face and dragged at her coat. No other passenger was foolhardy enough to venture outside. Just her and the angry sea. A matter of no importance that replaced hurt and anguish. Sabine slipped her wedding ring from her finger and let it fall into the tumultuous waves below.

CHAPTER THREE

The ship docked at six that evening. The air was bitter and striking compared to sultry Queensland evenings. Sabine was glad to get inside her car and start the engine. She dialed up the heat. The voyage from the mainland had taken just over nine hours. As much as Sabine struggled to stay awake, hours spent barreling along highways took its toll. She huddled in one of the reclining seats on the passenger deck and for the first time in a long while, slept.

Drivers were restless to head out of the ship and onto the dock. The queue took ages to move. Sabine parked next to a Toyota LiteAce campervan decorated with purple flowers. Two Italian tourists spoke in short, snappy exchanges to each other, not concealing their excitement in exploring a new destination. Both women sat in the door of the van, not concerned by impatient drivers behind them. Sabine found herself smiling at the women's enthusiasm.

One knocked on her window.

Hello, she said.

Hi,

"Can, how you say, voi? You, si, you tell us, eh, we are here, no?" She held up a map for Sabine to see. It was a map of the entire continent of Australia. Sabine smiled before reaching for a pen from the console. She drew a line on their map.

We sailed across Bass Straight and now we are here, Sabine said putting a circle around Devonport.

"Oh? We partenza Il commonwealth dell’Australia?"

Her friend interrupted, Leave Australia?

No, Sabine shook her head.

No?

We are still in Australia. We are in Tasmania, Sabine enunciated.

Ah, both chorused, Si.

"Yes. I mean si."

The women laughed.

"Mi chiamo Trisha."

No, no, her friend interpreted, She Trisha, me Pierina.

My name is Sabine, Sabine said shaking Pierina’s hand.

The tourists explained they went to school together and had just finished their studies. Pierina pulled down the waistband of her shorts to expose her cheek. She told Sabine she had the tattoo done in Melbourne and she was proud of the swirling ornate design. A man in the car behind them leered at her exposed bottom. Pierina waved and laughed at him, such were their carefree attitudes. Sabine laughed as well. The women said they can't wait to drive into Devonport to find Italian food. Sabine wanted to tell them Devonport was not a city but a large town. She doubted there was much choice in the way of food. In the end, she decided against it because disappointing the girls would dampen their spirit. Although Sabine was just a few years senior to the visitors, she felt dowdy and unattractive. She stole a glance into the rear-view mirror and was disappointed with what she saw. When comparing herself to the Italian girls, she looked run down.

Vehicles up started moving. The tourists scrambled to the front of their van.   Trisha stuck her head through the window and called back to Sabine, See you, mate.

Ciao bella, Sabine said.

The drive from Devonport to the south took three hours. Meeting the Italian tourists made her happy. Sabine pushed a James CD into the player. Tim Booth fronted the band from Manchester in England with a distinctive style