Hettie & Ceefer Mysteries 1-3: Hettie & Ceefer Mysteries

By Rennae Todd

 In the space between what you can see, and what you believe.

A spate of murders in her home town may or may not be a result of trouble in the universe, depending on who you listen to, but when croquet-playing relief teacher, Hettie Parke, finds herself mixed up in solving them, she certainly wasn't expecting her sidekick to be a cat with unusual talents. As she stumbles her way through murder and mayhem, and a clash with romance, she can't help but wonder what that cat Ceefer has on his agenda, apart from a pretty Persian and a bowl of tuna. And will her fractured relationship with her mother ever be repaired while she continues to drag the Parke name into the mire? Where is it all leading? And even more importantly, where will it end?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jakada Books
• Release date: Aug 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223070900

Book preview

HETTIE & CEEFER

MYSTERIES

1-3

Plus Short Read #2.5

A Christmas in July Sundowner Sally

A tree and bench under a white background Description automatically generated

Rennae Todd

Jakada Books

PERTH, WESTERN AUSTRALIA

Copyright © 2023 by Rennae Todd / Irene Sauman

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Hettie & Ceefer Box Set 1-3: Format (collection) Rennae Todd / Jakada Books / Perth Western Australia

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

ISBN ebook: 978-0-6454212-8-6

Contents

HETTIE & CEEFER MYSTERIES 1-3

Series Main Characters

MALICE Aforecourt

In this Story

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

BETWIXT and  Bewitched

In this Story

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

A Christmas In July SUNDOWNER SALLY

In this Story

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

DEATH by Candlelight

In this Story

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Next in Series

Get your free read

About the Author

Our Books

Series Main Characters

Parke Family

Henrietta (Hettie) Parke – 48-year-old President of the Parke Croquet Club and a relief teacher. Divorced and widowed from Brian Hitchcock, whose name she didn’t take. Lives at 6 Old Dairy Road.

Ceefer – a black cat who recently arrived in Hettie’s life. Has some unusual talents, not yet fully understood.

Violet Hitchcock – Hettie’s 22-year old daughter. Runs the Club Cafe. Lives with Hettie.

Elly and Rafe  Figeroa -  Hettie’s 27-year-old daughter, works part-time in advertising. Husband Rafe, landscape designer. Two daughters, Jazmin (4) and Rosa (2). Live at 4 Old Dairy Road.

Larry and Gwen Parke – Hettie’s younger brother, aged 46. Plays bowls. Runs the Parke Real Estate Agency with wife Gwen. She and Hettie are friends, most of the time. Live at 2 Old Dairy Road on the corner of Jersey Street.

Pearl, Max and Maxxie Longchamp – Hettie’s younger sister aged 37. Married to businessman Max. Their 20-year old son Maxxie is a university student.  Previously lived at 10 Old Dairy Road, now live on Rosny Circle.

Jack and California (Callie) Parke – Hettie’s parents. Live in a villa unit across the Road at Sunny Vale Retirement Village.

Alice Slater –Alice is Jack’s Parke’s younger sister. A widow now, she lives at 8 Old Dairy Road.

Eddie, Gloria and Frank Garcia – Eddie is a retired plumber. His son Frank, early 30s, is a primary school sports teacher. Eddie’s sister Gloria favours conspiracy theories. Related to Callie Parke. They occupy two houses further along Old Dairy Road.

Croquet and Bowls Club members

Romola Asquith – Croquet Club Secretary, home schools her children

Andrew Asquith – Croquet Club Treasurer, an accountant. Romola’s brother-in-law

Tom Cruickshank – Croquet Club Games Captain.

Judy Sanford – Croquet Club, a nurse

Belle Danvers – Croquet Club, a ghostwriter

Len Travers - Croquet Club, retired

George Engles – Bowls Club president. Wife Lyn.

Geoff Asquith – Bowls Club. Romola’s husband.

Sandra Alberts – Bowls Club

Parke Trust

Bladen (Den) Barrett – former mayor of Cygnet LGA

Isolde Reflex – lawyer

Darla Dalrymple – owner of Top Cut Hair Salons

Others

Detective Inspector Grayson Fox – Perth homicide squad. Someone Hettie knew quite well some years ago.

Sergeant Stuart Higgins – In charge of Rosny Police Station

Dan Wallace – reporter for the Rosny Record

Mrs. Edith Braxton and Mrs. Ila Bronson – Known as the Mrs. B’s. Frequent the Club Cafe and live opposite on Old Dairy Road.

Janelle Rice – knew Ceefer’s previous owner, Miranda. Has a white Persian named Aurora who is Ceefer’s troublesome friend.

MALICE

Aforecourt

A Hettie & Ceefer Mystery

Book #1

A tree and bench under a white background Description automatically generated

Rennae Todd

Jakada Books

PERTH, WESTERN AUSTRALIA

In this Story

Malice Aforecourt is the first title in the Hettie & Ceefer Mystery series set in the fictional outer-Perth suburbs of Woody Lake and Rosny, located on either side of the Cygnet River.

In this story, Hettie Parke is President of the Parke Croquet Club, daughter Violet runs the Club Cafe, and brother Larry is a member of the Bowls Club.

Up to now, the Croquet and Bowls Clubs have shared a single clubroom, working around the requirements of each in a – mostly – amicable manner. But the welcome addition to the Clubhouse of a second clubroom has raised the issue of which club will occupy it. What should be a simple decision is proving contentious as personalities and agendas clash. But murder is rather taking things to the extreme.

Chapter One

An Unpleasant Discovery

Hettie called good morning to Aunt Alice, who was watering the roses in her front garden next door, and crossed Old Dairy Road to the park. She was looking forward to croquet this bright spring morning after three days of teaching at Rosny Primary. Those fourth graders could be exhausting but she enjoyed the variety of relief teaching and the fact that, at only forty-eight, she didn’t need to work full-time.

A breeze carried snatches of Pavarotti’s Nessun Dorma from the Sunny Vale Retirement Village on the other side of Green Lake – which fortunately wasn’t as green with algae as it used to be. As if joining in the song, a magpie warbled above in the plane tree. Up ahead, the red-brick, iron-roofed Clubhouse of the Parke Bowls and Croquet Club sat as solid as it had when built by her grandfather, Terry Parke, fifty years earlier when the township of Woody Lake was established on his Sunny Vale Dairy Farm.

She heard someone call her name and turned. Larry was striding across the grass toward her, bowls bag in hand. Hettie waited for her younger brother before continuing up the park to the Clubhouse. Both tall and dark-haired with brown eyes and oval faces – Hettie’s finer than her brother’s – they made a colourful duo this Saturday morning. Hettie’s outfit was a yellow T-shirt under a matching jacket sporting the Parke Croquet Club logo, and white capris with her trademark yellow Skechers. Larry, by contrast, was wearing the green plaid blazer over white shirt and pants that made up the uniform of the Parke Bowls Club.

So, why have you called a general meeting, Sis? Larry asked. I thought the meeting on Wednesday night was supposed to sort out who took on the new clubroom.

It was, Hettie said, her stride easily matching his.

So?

Craig wouldn’t agree to either room.

Despite it being Bowls Club president Craig Lewis’ idea to add another room to their shared Clubhouse, when it came down to a choice, he refused to say which of the two clubrooms he preferred, nor would he agree to Hettie’s choice.

As president of the Croquet Club, Hettie had claimed she didn’t mind which room they ended up with, but Craig could see the benefits for both, and he wasn’t about to give the Croquet Club – or her – any advantage if he could help it. They were at a stalemate. So, she’d moved a motion for a general meeting of the members of both clubs to vote on the matter.

The building sub-committee took the decision out of his hands, she told Larry.

Silly old fool. No love lost there anyway.

What did you think of my notice? Hettie asked. I thought if the members get to decide about the clubroom for themselves, then I might as well go all out and push for the Croquet Club to get the new one.

You did that all right, Larry said gloomily.

Craig can put up his own argument. If he has one, Hettie said reasonably.

Yeah, but claiming you want to add a fourth court and become a major sporting venue for croquet in WA? Craig’s already been complaining that you’re monopolizing the Clubhouse.

Hettie frowned. Well, it’s not my fault we’ve held more tournaments and events than you have lately. You’ve got the Mount Lawley Club here today, anyway. Those fellows are going to take up half the room and make twice as much noise. Just think, you could be in your own clubroom right now and have all that lovely space to yourselves. And so could we, she added half to herself.

Larry groaned. Craig’s going to be unbearable this morning. Might be better if I just go home now.

You could always play croquet, Hettie told him sweetly.

Larry ignored the jab. While Hettie had embraced her responsibilities at the Croquet Club, her brother had sat back, not taking on any administrative role at the Bowls Club. It left him open to Craig’s whims. Of course, there were some people, Craig Lewis among them, who believed that Hettie Parke just liked to be in control. Hettie considered that was their problem.

They entered the gate to the paved patio that separated the Clubhouse from the bowling greens. No one was out on the greens, which seemed a little unusual. Craig was probably holding a strategy meeting. On the other side of the building another patio fronted three croquet courts. Cars belonging to players of both clubs lined the long length of Old Dairy Road, which surrounded three sides of the park.

At this time of day, customers in the Club Cafe at the front of the Clubhouse would be locals who had walked over for their cup of tea or coffee, and one of Violet’s muffins, as well as players getting in a quick cuppa, or even breakfast, before their games. Hettie hoped her daughter had made cinnamon rolls today. The thought of that delicious, iced treat with a cup of coffee made her taste buds tingle. She’d make time for it. Hettie smiled to herself. The sun was shining, and all was well with her world.

Inside the clubroom, Hettie greeted several of her club members as she headed to the croquet office. Their responses were strangely subdued. Was Larry not the only one who thought the notice she’d sent out about the meeting a little over the top? Oh, well, she’d sort it out.

She hung her bag and jacket on the coat stand in the corner of the small room and frowned at the two trolleys of court equipment – hoops, pegs, and balls – that were still there. Len Travers was on the roster for court setup this week. He must be running late. Unusual for him.

Hettie reached into the cupboard for her mallet. Her hand hovered over the rack. Her mallet wasn’t where she’d left it three days ago, or where she thought she’d left it, anyway. Len must have been tidying up.

She looked along the rack. The wooden mallet heads all looked much the same, interspersed with the occasional metal head. What she couldn’t see was the bright yellow handle of her mallet hanging below the rack.

Hettie? Romola Asquith, Croquet Club secretary, addressed her from the doorway. Um, I think you need to come and look at something.

Rom, my mallet is missing, Hettie said, her head still in the cupboard. You haven’t seen it have you? Did I leave it lying around somewhere Wednesday night?

I think it, um, it might be out on the court.

Hettie frowned. I’m sure I didn’t… She looked properly at her friend. Romola’s normally good-humoured face was pale, her eyes round. What is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.

You’d better come and see. He’s on Court Three.

Who’s on Court Three?

The clubroom seemed to have filled up in the last few minutes, but Hettie’s thoughts were on whatever it was that had Romola in a twist. They stepped out onto the patio on the croquet court side of the Clubhouse.

There, Romola said, pointing to the back of Court Three at the far end of the Clubhouse.

A handful of bowls players were standing where Romola indicated, seemingly looking at something on the ground. As she stared, the group rearranged itself and Hettie saw a blonde head and a yellow Croquet Club t-shirt. Her friend Judy Sanford got to her feet. Then she saw that someone was lying on the ground. Of course, Judy would be checking if someone were injured or ill. She was a nurse after all.

Hettie started forward. As she got closer she saw the green plaid jacket, thrown open, revealing – a once white shirt now sporting a rusty stain. Was that a boundary peg at the centre of the stain? Her stunned gaze took in the bigger picture. There was a hoop over one wrist pinning the man to the ground, for it clearly was a man lying there. On one level she registered that the hoop appeared to be placed in the holes for the number two hoop position. On another, she recognised her yellow-handled mallet lying on the ground beside him.

What was that doing here? She stepped closer. No, that couldn’t be hers. This mallet had a crack at one end of the head, and several gouges. And the handle was missing an inch or two at the top, leaving a ragged edge. But – there was her name. The gilt lettering on the side of the head might be scratched but it still clearly read 'HETTIE.'

Her step faltered. Someone grabbed her arm.

Steady on. It isn’t like you to get the wobbles, Sis. She hadn’t known Larry was nearby. Everything did seem a little fuzzy and he was right, it wasn’t like her, and she didn’t care for the sensation. She took in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. As the bowls players stepped away from the body, she found herself the centre of attention.

Are you okay? Now it was Judy asking, her blue eyes showing concern.

I’m – how – I mean.... She tried to swallow but her mouth was suddenly dry.

The police are on their way, George Engles, Bowls Club vice-president said, his pleasant square-jawed face showing a decidedly grey tinge. The sight was enough to turn anyone’s stomach, and George wasn’t the strongest of men. She supposed he would be president of the Bowls Club now. That was a relief anyway. It was his abstention from voting on Wednesday night that had carried her motion for the general meeting. Craig had abused him for it, too. Craig, with his two votes because he held both the president and treasurer positions. What a rort, but it hadn’t helped him Wednesday night. Nothing seemed to have helped him last night, either.

Come on everyone. Off the court, Len Travers ordered. We’ve already contaminated the scene. Hettie saw for the first time the trolley of court equipment. Had Len put it there  as he went about his appointed job of setting up the courts, or was it part of the murder scene? That hoop and boundary peg had to have come from somewhere after all.

As everyone drifted back to the patio Craig Lewis now lay in splendid isolation. Hettie felt a little sick and turned away. Why was her mallet on the court with the murdered man? And who had damaged it?

Chapter Two

Ceefer Commiserates

A tree and bench under a white background Description automatically generated

What’s going on? Jessica Lewis, Craig’s wife, stepped out of the Clubhouse. Her slim, toned body was impeccably dressed in the regulation Bowls Club uniform, the green blazer complimenting her auburn tinted hair in its rough-cut bob, softly framing a perfectly made-up face. Hettie considered Jessica high maintenance and envied her figure, but she did not envy the discovery the poor woman was about to make.

A moment’s horrified silence greeted Jessica, then George stepped forward and took her arm, drawing her aside. Everyone else looked away or suddenly found interest in studying the lines of the patio paving as they waited uncomfortably for the moment when Jessica learnt what had become of her husband.

No! Jessica’s strangled cry assaulted their ears and then she was racing across the court to fling herself on Craig’s body. George hurried after her, Judy followed, and Hettie found herself trailing after Judy. She might not have cared much for Jessica, but she understood the trauma of losing someone suddenly and unexpectedly.

Len appeared behind them. Jessica, I know you’re upset but you’re contaminating any evidence that was left behind. This won’t help the police find who did this.

Oh, I didn’t think, Jessica sobbed, tears streaming down her perfectly made-up cheeks as George and Judy helped her to her feet. Who would do this? Someone had to hate him to do this. She looked around wildly, her gaze stopping at Hettie. You. Did you want that new clubroom so badly? It’s all Craig could talk about lately. Even in his sleep, it was Hettie Parke this, Hettie Parke that. She looked back at her husband’s body, her own slumping between her supporters. Did you have to humiliate him? she wailed.

For a moment, Hettie was too stunned to speak. First her mallet, now Jessica’s accusations. I didn’t do this, Jessica, she managed to say. I’m as shocked as everyone else. It sounded weak even to her own ears.

Sandra Alberts, a Bowls Club Committee member came rushing out. She was a round little woman, somewhere in her sixties, well-meaning and full of platitudes. She all but pushed Judy out of the way as she took her place at Jessica’s side.

Oh, you poor dear, she soothed, rubbing Jessica’s back as the woman continued to sob. Don’t get yourself upset, Jess. It must have been quick. I’m sure he wouldn’t have suffered.

I think you should sit inside, George said. The police will be here soon.

Yes, of course. George is right, Jess. You mustn’t stay out here upsetting yourself. Come on inside. Sandra urged Jessica toward the clubroom. A nice cup of tea is what you need. I know just how you’re feeling, dear. When I lost my Sam… Hettie wanted to roll her eyes. Everyone knew Sam had been Sandra’s dog. She’d never married.

Hettie went inside to the little kitchen and switched on the kettle. A shot of something strong might have been welcome, but tea it would have to be. Judy appeared with a foil of tablets and dropped one into a cup.

Just a mild sedative, she said. I keep them on hand for my old folk. Sometimes they just need to stop their minds from whirring.

Didn’t she miss him?

Who?

Jessica. Didn’t she miss Craig when he didn’t come home last night? Or did this just happen this morning? You could tell that, right?

Signs are he’s been there a few hours, Judy replied. But perhaps they have separate rooms, or Jessica mightn’t have been home last night. The police will sort if out, Hettie. Stop worrying. Easier said than done under the circumstances.

Heads turned as Hettie went back out to the patio. Jessica’s accusation would have done the rounds by now. Did they all think she was capable of murdering Craig? Larry was standing with Romola and her husband, Geoff, a bowls player. Another croquet player, Belle Danvers, was with them. Hettie’s feet took her toward the group as a safe refuge.

Belle greeted her and put an arm around her shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

The police will work out who did it, Belle said. Hettie wasn’t reassured. She knew Belle had ghost-written the memoir of a retired homicide detective a year or so back. What wrongful arrests had she heard about?

The wail of a siren reached them, sighing to nothing as the police car pulled up out front. Sergeant Stuart Higgins, in charge of the Police Station at Rosny, on the other side of the Cygnet River, came toward them with a younger officer. Stuart was a solidly built man in his forties, just meeting regulation height. His dark hair was peppered with grey, and Hettie had already discovered those blue eyes could turn to flint as quickly as they could twinkle.

She knew him from the talks on stranger danger and general law and order he gave at the local schools and was big on being a friendly face in community policing. Friendly wasn’t to the fore today. He went to take a closer look at the body. After a cursory glance he pulled his communication device closer to his mouth. Hettie couldn’t hear what was said but he seemed to be listening more than talking. Finally, he approached the group of club members on the patio.

"I need you all to remain here. Detectives are on their way from Perth. While we wait, I’ll take your details and get some preliminary information.

Can’t we cover him? Romola asked.

Sergeant Higgins shook his head. I’m afraid not.

Inside the clubroom at least forty croquet and bowls players had congregated. Hettie hadn’t seen a gathering in the Clubhouse so quiet before, but it was clear people were shocked. The younger officer, introduced as Constable Small, was directed to start taking everyone’s details. And probably to find out where they were last night, and when they had last seen the victim, if police dramas on TV were anything to go by.

I’ll need to speak to the Cafe staff, Stuart said, and it will have to close for now. Could someone come with me, please?

Hettie stepped forward. Although the Cafe was the responsibility of both clubs, the day-to-day matters usually fell to Hettie because it was her daughter who managed the place. It made sense, but Hettie was sure everyone else was only too glad not to have to bother.

Stuart Higgins followed her through the connecting door at the top end of the clubroom. A passage led past the laundry, storeroom, and kitchen into the seating area. Only two tables, and one booth along the side wall, were occupied this morning with a total of six customers, none of them club members.

What’s going on? Violet wanted to know when Hettie went into the kitchen. Both she and Luke, her assistant today, were wearing the purple Club Cafe t-shirts with the steaming coffee cup logo. Violet’s long dark hair was pinned up under a cap. Where is everyone? I’ve just iced a fresh batch of cupcakes and there’s no one here to eat them.

I’ll tell you in a minute. Right now, there’s a police officer waiting to talk to us.

This isn’t about those brownies, is it? Violet hissed. I told the police I didn’t know Jason had brought them in. He thought it would be funny. I could’ve killed him.

Hettie winced. No. Someone’s...had an accident. Come on. She walked out before Violet could ask any more.

Sergeant Higgins cleared his throat. Could I have everyone’s attention please, he said, though he‘d had it since he walked in. There’s been an incident, so for the time being this building and grounds will be off limits. Before anyone leaves, I will need to take your details as someone may wish to speak with you at some time.

Sounds like more than an incident to me, Mrs. Braxton, a Cafe regular, said to her friend, Mrs. Bronson, making no effort to keep her voice down.

Merroow?

Nothing for you to worry about, Ceefer, Mrs. Bronson told the cat, reaching down to stroke his sleek black head.

As Sergeant Higgins began to take the customer’s details, Violet rushed back to the kitchen and returned with the tray of cupcakes, offering them to the customers as they left, compensation for having their morning break interrupted. The Mrs. B’s, as the elderly Mrs. Bronson and Mrs. Braxton were known, each got a takeaway coffee from Luke.

Mrew? Ceefer stood looking up at Hettie, his green eyes wide and questioning. Merrrooow, mrew.

I don’t understand cat-speak, Ceef, I’m sorry, Hettie said squatting down to give him a cuddle. Or get a cuddle, because she was the one needing it right now, she realised. She hugged him to her, and he bumped his head under her chin. Who knew a cat could be so comforting?

She knew little about cats in general, never having lived with one before. Her mother hadn’t tolerated pets unless they were in a cage or a bowl of water. This black cat had come into her home only a week ago when his previous owner, a man called Ian, had brought him into the Cafe and asked Violet if she could take him.

Ian had said he’d been left the cat by his Aunt Miranda but wasn’t able to care for him anymore. Violet had fallen in love with Ceefer on sight, resplendent in his blue harness, and had agreed. When Hettie questioned her as to why Ian hadn’t taken him to a cattery to be adopted, she admitted that Miranda had wanted a private adoption because she’d objected to ‘that operation.’ Ceefer, according to Miranda, had special talents to pass on.

As Hettie petted him now, she could understand an elderly lady thinking along those lines. Ceefer certainly gave the impression of being an intelligent animal and had probably been a much-loved companion for a lady in her later years. She gave him a last scratch behind his ears and set him back on the floor as Violet locked the door behind the last customer and turned the Open sign to Closed.

Hettie eyed the tray still more than half full of cupcakes. You may as well take those through to the clubroom, Vi, and anything else you have that won’t keep. And perhaps Luke could take orders for tea and coffee. No charge. Put it down to Club business. Violet nodded.

I need all your details, too, for the record, Sergeant Higgins said, picking up his notebook from the counter where he had put it beside his cap.

I can give you that, Hettie told him, waving Violet and Luke off to the kitchen. The girl is Violet Hitchcock, number six Old Dairy Road.

Your daughter, isn’t she?

Hettie nodded. She hadn’t taken Brian’s name when they married. She’d never wanted to think too deeply about her motivation to keep the Parke name, afraid she might find out something about herself she wasn’t particularly proud of. It was easy to explain it away at the time as the name she was known by in the Education Department. Besides, Hettie Hitchcock sounded like a character in a sitcom. Not that she had ever told Brian that.

She gave the Sergeant Luke’s details as he and Violet emerged from the kitchen carrying baskets of baked goods. Before they headed down the passage to the clubroom Hettie saw they had cinnamon rolls but asking for one didn’t seem appropriate right now.

When did you last see the deceased? Stuart Higgins asked her.

Wednesday evening. We had a meeting.

A meeting here?

Yes. Craig would’ve been here last night as well, for a practice session. A lot of the players here this morning are from the Mount Lawley Bowls Club. They have a grudge match planned. She wondered if anyone from Mount Lawley had a grudge against Craig.

Sergeant Higgins wrote in his notebook before slipping it into his shirt pocket and picking up his cap. Thanks Hettie. This is a bad business. The detectives will want to interview you. You can wait in the main room with the rest now.

Chapter Three

An Unexpected Request

A tree and bench under a white background Description automatically generated

A small army swarmed down the Croquet Club patio. Uniformed officers, an entourage of people in dark blue coveralls, some carrying cases containing who knew what, and two men in suits. Hettie did a double take as she took in the suited detectives.

Grayson Fox. Brown haired, grey-eyed, topping six-feet and well built, he was a cliché of the handsome mature police officer. She hadn’t known he was back in WA. She caught Larry’s eye across the room. He winked and she glared at him shaking her head. Don’t you dare. The other detective, clearly the lead, introduced himself as Inspector Handley. He was older, partly bald, and had a hard edge. Hettie wondered if he smiled much.

We’ll be conducting interviews with all of you present, Inspector Handley told them. We’ll be as quick as we can, but I’m sure you understand we are investigating a serious crime here, so I ask you to be patient. Inspector Fox and I will be interviewing in the Cafe, and other interviews will take place outside on the patio. He indicated the Bowls Club side of the building.

A female police officer collected Jessica Lewis from the bowls office and escorted her to the Cafe. Jessica seemed to have composed herself and was no longer crying. No doubt Judy’s sedative had helped with that. Both detectives followed the female officer and Jessica to the Cafe as two Mount Lawley bowls players were called outside where several officers in uniform sat at the tables. At least things were moving. The sun shone on the croquet courts and the bowling greens. It would have been a pleasant day for play.

Under instructions not to talk to one another, Hettie, sitting with Belle, Romola, and Judy, had almost dozed off when her name was called. Accompanied by George Engles, she followed Grayson Fox through the connecting doorway to the Cafe.

With a quick glance at the detective’s retreating back George stopped and urgently turned to Hettie. What do you want me to say about Wednesday night? he whispered.

What?

I’m sure Romola would rewrite the minutes if you asked.

Hettie was stunned, but before she could respond, Grayson turned at the end of the passage, giving them the eye. Is there a problem?

No, no problem, Hettie replied. Just tell the truth, George, she hissed, not looking at him. Her choice of words meant she hadn’t had to move her lips. Amazing how things came back to you in times of stress. She must remember to tell Larry. It would appeal to his sense of humour if nothing else.

But George’s request made her wonder. Did he want to protect her because he knew she hadn’t killed Craig? Because he had? Hettie was still pondering this as she stepped into the Cafe to find Inspector Handley waiting for her. He directed her to a table at the far end of the room. Grayson seemed to have disappeared into the kitchen with George. Had that been his choice? It left her with mixed feelings. Inspector Handley seated himself and consulted his notes.

You are Henrietta Parke?

I am.

I want you to start at Friday morning and tell me what you did for the day.

I was relief teaching at Rosny Primary School yesterday, Hettie began, and outlined her day, from breakfast to bedtime.

The Inspector made notes as she talked. She thought he must have a cold as his nose twitched and he sniffed occasionally. Or perhaps it was hay fever, given it was springtime. Just as he began asking about her relationship with Craig, he fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.

Aaachoo. He sneezed several times, his eyes watering. Is there... aaachoo… a cat... aaachoo…

Hettie looked around. Where was Ceefer? Inspector Handley got to his feet just as Ceefer strolled out from under the table, almost tripping him as the Inspector stumbled to the front door. It banged shut behind him as he escaped into the garden. Grayson appeared from the kitchen alert and ready, expecting perhaps to catch someone breaking in or breaking out. George followed, curious also to see what was going on.

Outside, Inspector Handley leant against a tree taking in deep breaths of fresh air, and there were the Mrs. B’s patting him on the shoulder and offering a bottle of water. They must have been sitting in the garden keeping an eye on comings and goings. Behind her, Grayson gave a snort of amusement. Hettie wasn’t sure if he was laughing at his superior or at her.

And how are you, Grayson? she asked.

I’m well enough. Yourself?

I’m good. Have you been back in WA long?

A few months. His grey eyes sparked as they met hers. She shouldn’t have asked. Did he think she was wondering why he hadn’t been in touch? Grayson looked behind him and saw George watching them with interest. Could you wait back in the kitchen, please, sir? I’ll be with you in a minute. I need a word, Hettie, he said quietly when George had disappeared, but not before sending a curious glance her way. "I need a favour. Could we please act as if we’ve never met before?