Ms Seagreen's Coastal Mystery: A Whale of a Crime

By A. J. Henry

Crystal blue waters, and wide unspoiled beaches on the Queensland coast, attract holidaymakers from far and wide.

But this tropical paradise hides a murky underside. Sabine Seagreen finds herself embroiled in a murder mystery with a dash of rum and a splash of romance.

Praise for this novel by Kat T.
A.J. Henry has written a splendid fast-paced cozy mystery murder with an array of colorful, quirky, toxic, and secretive characters that will draw you in with their mystique.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. J. Henry
• Release date: Apr 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9780648579045

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

Ms. Seagreen’s

Coastal Mystery

A

Whale

Of

A

Crime

First Published in Australia on October, 2021

Copyright © A. J. Henry 2021

This book is a work of fiction and, except for historical fact, any

Resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permission with reference to

Copyright material and the creator of the work duly acknowledged.

The author apologises for any omissions and will include the appropriate

Acknowledgement to this and future editions.

ISBN: 978-0-6485790-4-5

Typeface Eurostyle: Papyrus

Body text Times New Roman 12pt

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

One

W hat on earth is it ?

That is the prognosticator of all things good and evil.

Sabine Seagreen studied the cumbersome machine sitting on a bench in Eleanor Flower’s shed. The contraption was roughly the size of a printer, with one notable exception; an overly large handle protruded from the side.

When does the monkey start cranking the handle?

Ha! There are no organ grinders in our little town. This, my girl, prints The Dawn Patrol.

It does? Sabine said, studying the machine. It smells awful.

Eleanor Flowers laughed. You get used to the pong after a while. It’s an old Gestetner Roneo duplicator, an antique, I suppose. As for the smell, I tell you, my girl, that purple inky smell takes me back to the classroom. I still get butterflies remembering the test papers landing on our desks. Sometimes, a word became unreadable due to a tear in the stencil. It left a big black blob. Photocopiers killed the technology years ago. I find the duplicator the cheapest way to print five-hundred copies week-in-week out.

Sabine scoffed, How on earth?

I’ll show you. A wax-paper stencil is wrapped around the drum and when I turn the handle, ink forced through the stencil. Eleanor turned a long handle attached to one side of the machine.

And, hey presto, out comes a copy of the newsletter. Eleanor blew over the paper to dry the ink before handing it to Sabine.

My goodness, that is amazing.

I leave a stack in a stand beside the newsagent’s door for passers-by. By week’s end, all copies have gone. It makes me think my efforts are worthwhile. George doesn’t think so. George owns the pub, and you will no doubt meet him. He says the same every week. I place copies on the counter, telling me how grateful he is for a new supply of toilet paper.

This week’s headline news in Waterman’s Bend, Sabine said, as she scanned the copy. A Whale Festival?

Too right, my girl. You’ve landed in town at the right time. The festival is the biggest event to happen in Waterman’s Bend, and believe me, not much goes on around here. Last week’s Gazette covered seven things women carry in their bras.

Sabine laughed, That really must have been a slow week for news.

The article outlined a story exposing the myth that bras prevent our girls from heading south. Uh-huh, some plastic surgeon in the States said it’s all to do with Cooper’s ligaments and gravity. Yes, yes, don’t look at me like that. Our old friend, gravity, has never been kind to us women. If humans every colonize the Moon, I, for one, will put my hand up to volunteer living in the outpost. All that hopping about in near zero gravity would do wonders for my hip-joints.

Blimey, I much prefer the story about whales and the Whale Festival.

Here, here.

Did the surgeon say if they can do anything to stop the droop?

Yep. Stand on your head for six hours a day.

Oh, surely you’re not serious?

Ha! Eleanor turned in tight swirls. Nothing is serious in this place. It’s Queensland. Everything is, as they say, neat and carefree. She pushed a button on a dust covered music system attached to an odd assortment of speakers piled precariously on top of each other.

A deep, melodious voice declared, And now, here’s your host with opinions that matter the most, from the mountains to the coast; he’s inspiring; he’s controversial; and he’s always right. It’s The Breakfast Show, starring Andy Herd.

Andy Herd?

Yes, he’s a social commentator here in Watermans Bend.

A string of musical riffs played on guitar and piano.

Sabine glared at the radio in the same puzzled way she had earlier looked at the duplicator.

Welcome, Andy Herd said, Welcome, to this glorious Thursday. What about this rain, eh? When will it end? Normally, for this time of the year, we enjoy cloudless skies and sunny days. I checked in with the weather bureau earlier and this is what they had to say about this unusual weather. A ridge of high pressure is moving across the continent. This impacts with a band of low pressure, drawing moist air down from the tropics. The system is slow moving and not expected to move out to sea for the next few days. A few days! Deary, deary me. Haven’t we had enough of this rain already? I’m told we have had, here in Waterman’s Bend, the equivalent of a six months of rain in a few short days. Districts to the South are seeing major flooding in low-lying areas, and an alert has been issued to farmers to move livestock to higher ground. Isn’t it the way for poor farmers, eh? They suffer when no rain comes, and when too much falls, as we have now, they find themselves in a crisis. We can only hope this high-pressure ridge pushes the wet out to the middle of the Pacific, and does it soon.

Mind you, everyone in Watermans Bend knows Herd.

I hate him, hate him.

Hmm, Herd divides people, polarizes opinion with his controversial view of the world. Many adore him, while others, like yourself, can’t stand the man.

It has nothing to do with his opinions. No, not that. The man is a pig, a vile and disgusting human being.

My word, you really do not like the fellow.

Now, I have to get serious for the moment. All of you ladies out there, I want you to cast your mind back to the time you pulled your hair into scrunchies, wore acid-washed jeans with a high-waist, and those tight-fitting tube tops. Who could forget, eh? You were slim and gorgeous, pretty little things, and sexy to boot. Oh, yeah! That’s right, the year was nineteen-ninety-two and Billy Ray Cyrus sang Achy Breaky Heart, Herd gushed.

Sabine grabbed a plastic chair sitting beside the printer. It was covered in sheets of paper. She dumped them on the floor and sat. Giddiness overcame her. A life she thought left behind in far-off Tasmania resurfaced. This radio announcer’s voice distressed her.

The chorus of the song played before fading out, the broadcaster continued, "That same year President Bush and the leaders of one-hundred-and-seventy-seven countries met in Rio de Janeiro to sign a United Nations document know as Agenda 21.

"Many of you are thinking, is the United Nations relevant today? The intergovernmental organization was established after World War II. The aim was to prevent future wars after the abysmal League of Nations failed at almost everything. Since then, we’ve had the Vietnam war, Palestinian Conflicts, Iraq, the World Trade Centre bought down by hijacked aircraft; and meanwhile, Al-Qaeda spreads terrorist ideology. Some would say, and I’m one of them, that the UN is a waste of time. And yet, their ability to enforce their dogma on governments globally is affecting our lives.

"The problem, you see, is the unelected swill who holds positions in the UN and who are nothing more than puppets to the international bankers who put them there. Think about it for a minute. All the NGO’s such as the World Wildlife Fund, Greenpeace, and others act in consort to corrupt the United Nations. The means they employ to support global governance, and therefore exert their influence on people of the world, is to encourage complicated systems of over governance.

"Think for a minute about the way our lives have been affected here in Waterman’s Bend? We have used septic tanks and other waste water treatments for generations with no harm done to anyone. Now, we are forced to pay for costly waste water treatments, all under the guise of protecting ourselves and the environment. Protecting us from what, I may ask?

"What about the number of streets narrowed to one lane or closed to stop us from using motor vehicles and force us onto dreaded pushbikes to sweat it out in horrid Lycra? Let me tell you, who wants to see that in the windscreen when driving to work? And to what purpose?

"The Earth Summit in nineteen-ninety-two was a plot to relinquish the private property rights of individuals across this nation. This push to house people on tiny plots of land or in tightly spaced condominiums in over-crowded cities to make better use of infrastructure such as public transport, water, and electricity is nothing but a con pushed onto the citizens of this nation. The United Nations seeks to see all people of the world become vassals of a ‘New World Order’.

Meanwhile, countries who did not sign the Lima Declaration, such as China, have grown powerful. We’re... I almost swore, but I know my panel operator will cut me off if I do, are up a Ship Creek without a paddle, Herd said, his voice rising in alarm. A series of bleeps punctured his speech.

We Kow-tow to our overlords, who threaten and punish us through trade sanctions. All the while, they feed us the lie that this country of hard workers, doers, and builders, is destroying the planet with carbon dioxide...! Herd’s rant filled with bleeps ends when music cut­­ him off.

Hello, Eleanor said as she leaned across to press the off button on the radio. Your tea is ready.

Sabine turned her attention from the radio to Eleanor.

Eleanor asked, Is everything all right? You look a little, I don’t know, dazed.

Him, Sabine said with a breathless rush.

Who?

Sabine pointed to the radio.

Are you still upset about Herd. His obnoxious views can’t hurt you. Ignore him.

I want to...

What?

Sabine spread her finger and held her hands before her as though gripping an invisible bowling ball.

I want to kill him, she said, hands shaking.

Whoa, hold on, there girl. Are you listening to what you just said? I’m guessing you wanting to kill Herd is a figure of speech. You don’t want to, you know, actually do him in?

Sabine glared at the radio.

Sabine?

Her feelings stirred on hearing that voice. To answer Eleanor was beyond words. Sabine’s heaved her shoulders, clenched her arms in a solitary, self-embrace.

Uh-huh, be careful of what you wish for, my luv, Eleanor said as she put her arms around Sabine’s shoulder and led her out of the shed and into the kitchen.

Sabine made the excuse that she could not leave Charlish alone, not in a new house. But Eleanor insisted on taking her to the pub.

Bring Charlish with you, she said. Everyone’s welcome at the Sea Rabbit, especially big friendly pooches such as Charlish. But let me warn you, the folks around here will spoil him with affection.

Ha, ha, as if he’s not already spoilt.

Sabine could not say no. She enjoyed the prospect of meeting others in Waterman’s Bend. After all, she did entertain the idea of this small coastal town becoming her forever home.

Queensland country pubs were different to other parts, and the Sea Rabbit was no exception. Tall foxtail palms graced the beer garden, while the carpark was sectioned between age-old jacaranda trees. Several arches lined the front supported on ornate posts extending the full width of the footpath, as though offering protection to all from tropical downpours. A wide veranda wound around all sides of the top floor. Patrons caught glimpses of the sea over the tops of Casuarina trees lining the dunes.

A man with a red bandana crouched on hand and knees craning his neck towards a stack of leaves. The fellow was sheltered from rain under the veranda. As the man’s cheeks ballooned in a steady stream of breath, flames leapt urgently beneath the pyre of twigs and leaves.

A welcome to country, Eleanor whispered.

Sabine smiled. She had seen indigenous ceremonies before and wondered why those in Waterman’s Bend saw her as a foreigner. Perhaps, to this small, isolated community,