Clash of Wills

By Audrey Flynn

A clash of wills in lion country can have deadly consequences…

Big city chef Ruby Slater is the heir to a magnificent mansion in the heart of Lion Country. When her bistro in Cleveland burns to the ground, she leaves everything behind and heads to South Africa.

 

In the small town of Marulaspruit, on the edge of the vast Kruger Game Reserve, she intends to start afresh and restore her late uncle's mansion to its former glory. But not everyone in town is happy with Ruby's arrival.

 

Local builder and former bad boy Sam Duvenage also claims a legal right to the Jacaranda Mansion, and he's not about to give it up.

 

Furthermore, a dangerous poaching syndicate is determined to get their hands on the mansion for its own nefarious purposes.

 

As danger circles closer and passion ignites between them, it becomes clear that Ruby and Sam had better put their clash of wills aside or find themselves at the mercy of deadly criminals.

 

 

Author Audrey Flynn will keep you on the edge of your seat as the chilling story unveils who the criminals are and what they are willing to do to get their hands on the property. Ms. Flynn writes about the heart of South Africa, the Lion Country, and poaching in a way that weaves the deadly crime with a sweeping romance set against the South African backdrop. Known for her romantic suspense, Ms. Flynn's writing reminds readers of Catherine Cowles' Sutter Lake Series and Cynthia Eden's Wilde Ways series. Don't miss your chance to fall in love with Marulaspruit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781958136737

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

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Order up! Ruby shouted above the noise as she slapped two skillfully plated salmon en croûtes on the counter. With all three stations maxed out and the three gas hobs, a deep fryer, and the extractor fans going, the kitchen sounded like a tornado. There were only three bodies in there, but with the air-conditioning on the fritz again, it felt like thirty.

This kitchen was the engine room of Ruby’s life’s work: a small, struggling eatery in Cleveland’s trendy Tremont district. ‘Ruby’s Place’ seated only forty diners, yet the back of house was still short-staffed. Ruby was the owner, head chef, and called out all the orders. At station one her sous-chef Arturo, whose lean arms were corded with muscles, gracefully worked four burners at once. At station two Kenny the newbie was flapping around like a headless turkey. Ruby knew he was too inexperienced to hold up a station on his own––he should have been shadowing someone––but seeing as Dennis quit last month, she really had no choice.

Ruby eyed the clock on the wall. It was only ten minutes to seven, which meant there were still more orders coming in. Being head chef in a cramped kitchen wasn’t most people’s idea of fun, but for Ruby the pressure somehow regulated her normally scattered attention span. Doing three things at once while overseeing everybody else focused her concentration like a laser.

Four minutes on table three! she shouted, just as the swinging doors burst open. It was Kendra, one of the three servers, her black ponytail swinging jauntily. You working those specials? Ruby asked, stirring a tarragon and Madeira sauce.

You bet your ass, Kendra said, grabbing two plates of salmon. I’ve got five orders for the quail special on table one.

Five? Holy shit. Good work, Ruby praised, turning to Arturo. That’s five quail, Arturo. Sear those birds and give them to me so I can roast ’em.

Coming up, Arturo said, his back to her. He was generally a hard-ass, but an unflappable one.

Oh my god, Kenny what the fuck is this? she demanded as Kenny placed a plate on her station. Ruby looked down at a stuffed baby chicken roasted in lemon and thyme that she should have been about to finish off with creamy risotto.

A little underdone? he asked. His posture reminded her of a baby seal about to be clubbed.

Underdone? Ruby sank a fork into the bird and blood oozed. Dude, the twenty-four-hour vet is just up the block; I reckon they could still save it if you hurry. Kenny looked like he was about to cry. Ruby took pity on him. Don’t sweat it Ken, just give it some radar love, she said, pointing at the microwave. There’s no time to redo it. This table is up in two minutes. Kenny sighed at the reprieve.

Gotta know your times man, especially with birds, Arturo chipped in from his station. Ruby Slater, you’re a softy. The chef who trained me once made me eat my raw chicken Kiev. I puked for three days straight.

Yeah, well might I remind you, Mr. Kitchen Confidential, that we are short-staffed, and a chef with salmonella poisoning is pretty fucking useless.

It was Saturday, the busiest night of the week, and the restaurant was fully booked. That was happening more often these days. After three years of slog, Ruby’s Place was finally turning a corner.

On the tiled wall next to her station a framed photograph had pride of place. Its location in the kitchen was incongruous, and there were splatters of grease on the front glass, but the fading photograph of the old Jacaranda Mansion on the other side of the world had always made her smile, so she kept it there, just above eye-level. Ruby had no time to stare at the picture this evening. She took three quail from the oven and poured her sauce, adding the wild mushrooms, kale, and fondant potatoes.

Two steaks well-done! Another server clipped their order to the board.

Well-done rump? Gross, said Ruby.

Oh, and four quail for table two.

Four more quail? Ruby was delighted. The expensive birds wouldn’t last beyond tomorrow. The challenge was that Arturo was already up to his eyeballs. She made a decision. Kenny, she yelled. We have the starters out; I need you to help with these birds. Kenny looked panicked. It’s okay, Ken. It’s not rocket science. Four or five minutes breast down and then flip ’em. Ruby added vermouth to the risotto and started with the steaks.

The swinging doors burst open again. Ruby you gotta do something about this air con thing, said Rob, the head waiter and front-of-house manager. Tall and rangy, he had an Adam’s apple that bulged as he spoke. Thirty seconds in here and I go out sweating like a nun in a cucumber patch.

Yeah, well that’s what deodorant is for Rob. Ruby didn’t take her eyes of the sauce or risotto. Rob clipped his order to the rail and left the kitchen in a huff of irritation. Out of the corner of her eye, Ruby, who was used to scanning the progress at all three stations, saw the smoke rising from a saucepan on the hot stove.

That’s too hot Kenny! she yelled. I want the quail seared, not cremated. As the words escaped her mouth, the oil in the pan ignited. Kenny jumped back, his face narrowly missing the flames. Arturo made a dash and flipped off the gas switch to the stove, but the fire was already spreading in all directions. Two pans had now caught on, and the flames reached the grease trap and extractor above. Goddammit. Ruby remembered that the grease trap was way overdue for a service. Months of residue and gunk were now giving the fire fuel. The alarm started shrieking as Ruby made a run for the fire extinguisher near the back door.

Arturo, keep the orders going! she shouted, determined not to lose the evening’s service. She grabbed the heavy extinguisher marked K––this fire would need a mix of water and mineral solids to smother it. It took her precious seconds to detach it from the wall. As she turned around, Ruby’s eyes widened with horror. Kenny no, that’s the wrong extinguisher! she screamed. It was too late. His face a mask of determination, Kenny held the small extinguisher marked A and was spraying wet foam into the flames. There was a whoosh as the flames spread across the stove and to the counter tops. Kenny stood, empty canister in hand, seemingly mesmerised by the results of his efforts. The size of the fire doubled, then tripled in an instant. It was spreading above the grease trap and flames were inches away from the ceiling. The intensity of the heat was breathtaking, and the kitchen was as bright as the morning sun. Ruby pointed the nozzle of her extinguisher into the heart of the fire, but the dry foam was no match for the flames that were licking at the roof and threatening the entire kitchen.

What the fuck? It was Rob.

Call 911! Ruby yelled, but Arturo was already on his phone.

Rob, clear the dining room and make sure there’s no one in the bathrooms. Take the money out of the register. Rob’s eyes were the size of dinner plates, and for once he didn’t argue.

Sorry Ruby, Kenny said as he began coughing.

Just get out, Ken! she yelled.

Ruby, we have to go now; there’s nothing we can do. Arturo grabbed her arm. The kitchen––which had been so bright seconds ago––now became darker as smoke, thick and cloying, filled the space.

No fucking way! screamed Ruby as she valiantly sprayed the dregs of the extinguisher into the fire. Arturo grabbed her. It’s over Ruby. Come on, you’ll die in here! His eyes were streaming.

Wait! She began coughing in earnest. I’ve got to make sure everyone is out. The captain doesn’t abandon her ship. Her vision was blurry, and she could feel her lungs shutting down. Is there anyone in here? She tried to open the swinging door to the dining room, but it was blisteringly hot to the touch.

Ruby, for God’s sake, it’s time to leave! Arturo yelled above the roar of the flames.

Okay, but I’ve gotta get one thing. Ruby broke loose from Arturo’s hold, and with a dishcloth covering her nose and mouth, made her way to her station. Through the flames and smoke she saw it: her picture of the Jacaranda House. She grabbed it off the wall and screamed as the metal frame seared her hand. With the sound of sirens closing in, she and Arturo made a mad dash for the door.

**

Three years of work gone to shit. Ruby sat on the sidewalk outside her restaurant. Rivulets of water blackened with soot washed down the street. The ruins of the bistro still smoked in places. Most of the roof was gone, but the steel door frames were left standing, although bent and buckled.

At least the crapper’s still there, said Arturo. He was right. The entire dining room had gone up, as had the interior walls, and now a single toilet was in full view. The sight of it made Ruby feel even worse. Her poor ruined bistro now looked so horribly exposed. All the patrons and staff, except herself and Arturo, had left, as had most of the gawkers. A single fire team remained, dousing small smoking piles of wreckage, and generally making the place safe. A gauze bandage covered Ruby’s hand where she’d grabbed her picture.

Arturo sat on the curb next to Ruby and lit a cigarette. Ruby stomped a thick work boot in the dirty water and took off her bandanna. She shook loose her thick mane of auburn hair, with its single grey stripe that ran from root to tip. She’d been determined not to cry while everyone had watched with morbid fascination as her life’s dream had gone up in smoke. Now exhausted, with aching lungs and a burned hand, she struggled to hold back the tears.

What the hell will I tell my family? she wailed.

How about ‘My restaurant burned down?’ Arturo took a deep drag on his cigarette.

I know what they’ll say: ‘Just another one of Ruby’s disasters.’ Like flunking out of college twice, wrapping my first car around a pole, the jewellery business that flopped. I’ve had no life for three years––no relationship, not a single holiday. Not even a weekend. Just this damn place. Ruby couldn’t staunch the tears that ran down her face, cutting a clear line through the grime. I’ve let everybody down this time. Ruby wiped her face on the sleeve of her chef’s jacket. Arturo, you take that job at The Galleria, okay?

Yeah, I’ll find something else, he said. The first signs of daybreak were appearing, and in the very early light she noticed that his eyebrows were rather comically singed. There was hardly any traffic, and the fire team appeared to be getting ready to leave.

Tell me something Rube: why did the grease trap go up like that? Isn’t it serviced every other month?

Ruby put her head in her hands. I did an exchange with Steve the cleaning guy. You know, a few free meals in exchange for his services. Well, his wife had a baby last month, so we were kind of behind on the cleaning schedule.

That was how Ruby’s Place was run. Turning out high-class food on a small budget meant that margins were wafer thin. Ruby routinely paid everyone else before she took any salary herself.

Plus, I didn’t have time to give Kenny a proper tutorial in fire safety. Another thing that slipped through the cracks, Ruby sighed.

Hopefully you can rebuild this place. I mean you’ve got insurance, right? he asked.

Ruby shook her head. Only for general liability, not for property. Arturo let out a low whistle. As of now I’m basically screwed, she said, and looked again at the photograph of the Jacaranda House.

You wanna tell me why you risked both of our lives for that picture? Arturo asked. Isn’t that your uncle’s place or something?

Yes, she answered. It’s my Great Uncle Murray’s place in a small town called Marulaspruit, right on the edge of the Kruger National Park in South Africa. It’s an incredible place. I grew up in Johannesburg, but we spent every holiday there until my dad moved us all stateside.

An exhausted looking fireman approached Ruby. Looks like we’re done here, ma’am. It’s probably best if you go home and get some sleep. Another fireman approached. Hey Mike! he called. I hope you like your chicken well-done, he laughed, tossing a charred bird into the air. It splattered on impact with the sidewalk.

That happens to be a quail! Ruby shouted. She wanted to sound angry, but her voice broke, and instead, to her own ears, she sounded pathetic.

Sorry, I didn’t see you sitting there. The fireman looked sheepish, and Ruby waved him away.

Arturo stood up. You okay to drive home? he asked. You should maybe get someone to take a more thorough look at that.

I’ll be fine, she said, flexing her right hand. Now that the adrenaline had worn off it was beginning to throb. You go, I’ll leave in a minute.

Ruby looked at her picture once more. The frame was buckled, and parts of the photograph had blistered in the heat. She held the precious picture close to her chest and hugged it tightly. Her Uncle Murray was now in poor health, and she hadn’t seen him in years. But somehow, it was his presence that she craved.

There were visible orange streaks in the sky; soon the city of Cleveland would be coming to life. Ruby sat in front of the ruins of her restaurant, taking in the total scorched-earth destruction of her life’s dream. The ‘I told you so’ comments from her family were sure to be brutal. Trying to start over here in Ohio would be near impossible, especially without insurance or financial backing, and in full view of her family’s critical eyes. Ruby let out one long sigh of defeat.

She glanced again at her photograph. The old mansion and Africa, her birthplace, seemed to be calling for her.

CHAPTER 2

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The engine of the little Honda screamed in protest as Ruby sped up the driveway to her parents’ magnificent colonial-style home in Hunting Valley east of the city.

Already in the driveway was her brother’s Maserati, and no doubt her big sister Laurel had arrived early. Laurel was always early. She glanced at the clock on the dash: 6:26 p.m. Shit. She had meant to be on time, she really had. But she couldn’t have ignored her elderly neighbour Mrs. Lightbody whose cat had found itself halfway up a tree. Kicking off her heels, she’d climbed the damn tree herself and delivered the meowing ginger cat into the arms of his grateful owner. Now she was nearly half an hour late for the family meeting.

She quickly checked herself in the rearview mirror and pulled a few scraggly leaves from her hair. The car door shrieked on his hinges as she opened it. The house and its Georgian columns loomed above her, as impressive and intimidating as ever. Facing the giant double front doors, she straightened her shoulders and tried to summon her courage. Still shaken from the catastrophe at her restaurant, the universe had dealt her a double blow: three days after the fire she’d received a tearful call from her Aunt Trudy in South Africa, informing her that her dear Uncle Murray had died while hosting a party at his bushveld mansion. Coming hot on the heels of the loss of her bistro, Murray’s death had shaken loose what little equilibrium she’d had left.

Now Laird Slater had summoned his three offspring to discuss the will, and Ruby, the youngest and the poorest, had felt like she was going to puke from anticipation and nerves all day.

She raised her hand to the giant knocker just as Moira Slater opened the door. Darling, how are you doing? Is your hand any better? Have you managed to find work for your staff?

Always elegant, Moira wore a flowing blouse and matching slacks in sage green, and traces of her South African accent remained. Chunky bracelets jangled as she enfolded her daughter in a hug and air kissed her on both cheeks.

I’m okay. I’ve managed to find work for the servers at a new place opening in the Gateway district, and my hand is––

Never mind, dear. Her mother cut her off. The others have been waiting for a while and you know how your father gets...

Ruby groaned inwardly. Why hadn’t she just told Mrs. Lightbody to call the fire department? Moira’s heels clicked on the stone floors as she led her daughter down the hall. Ruby compulsively chewed the inside of her cheek as she heard the voices of her father and siblings.

Ruby, how nice of you to finally join us, Laird’s voice boomed as Ruby entered the imposing room. Floor to ceiling bookcases lined the study, and Laird’s desk was big enough for ping-pong. A fire in the hearth warmed the room.

Hi everyone. Sorry I’m late, I had to save a neighbour’s cat, she said truthfully. My elderly––

"At least you managed to save something this time," Laurel quipped. She sat in one of the wingback chairs arranged in front of the fire, a glass of red wine in hand. Their brother Tony sat next to her, and he gave Ruby a mere wave as he continued scrolling on his phone.

Well, I always help where I can. Ruby tossed her hair and looked Laurel straight in the eye. She was used to her big sister’s condescension and was determined to keep it together.

Settle down girls. Laird Slater, a scion of corporate law and respected expert on corporate governance, commanded the deference of everyone he met, and his family was no exception.

Something to drink, old girl? We’re enjoying a lovely cabernet sauvignon. He held up his glass.

Bourbon on the rocks for me. I’ll make it. Ruby headed to the drinks tray and did just that. Her mother, she noticed, was perched anxiously on the edge of the leather sofa. Ruby took a seat on the other end. Her father stood facing them all in front of the fire. Looking between him and Laurel, she marvelled at what a carbon copy her sister was of their father. They were both demanding, perfectionist lawyers who were used to speaking over everyone else. Hell, Laurel’s hair was even styled identically to Laird’s.

As you are all now aware, my uncle Murray Slater passed last month, after battling heart failure for some time. He did so peacefully, we believe, whilst drinking his favourite Cognac and entertaining friends at home.

Ruby took a deep swig of bourbon. She hadn’t seen her uncle in many years. Although their correspondence had been erratic, Ruby had been deeply fond of him, and she sensed that her mother had similar feelings.

Even though he was not a terribly productive man, Laird’s sonorous voice reverberated, and Ruby could swear she saw her mother flinch, he was dearly loved by his family and many friends. He was also a man of fine tastes and appreciated the arts.

At the image of her beloved uncle doing what he loved best––that is, not very much––Ruby felt a sharp pang of loss. It was true that he had inherited a great deal, including an exquisite mansion in the heart of lion country and a fortune to go with it. But he had, by all accounts, frittered much of it away.

He was a gracious man who opened his home to many. And I’m sure that we can all remember the wonderful family time we shared while staying with him in the bushveld, Laird continued. Ruby swallowed hard. Every school holiday until her family had moved to the States when she was twelve had been spent at Uncle Murray’s. She could still recall the glorious sights and smells of the Jacaranda Mansion. The place, the town, and its people had taken up residence deep in Ruby’s heart and never left.

The will is brief and to the point, and to summarise, Murray left the Jacaranda Mansion and its entire contents to my three children. Ruby gasped at the implication; the rest of the room fell silent.

According to Murray’s sister Trudy van Niekerk, the mansion is not in great shape. Trudy says the house is a shadow of its former self and badly in need of repair.

So we sell it and put the proceeds into the family trust. Done deal I say, Laurel said flatly.

With the current rand-to-dollar exchange rate you won’t get much, Tony added, sounding bored.

What about the art works that he collected in his lifetime? Surely they must be worth something. Moira was still poised anxiously on the edge of the sofa.

Again, going by what Trudy says, anything of any value was sold long ago in order to fund Murray’s rather extravagant lifestyle.

Well, exchange rate or not, we have to find an agent to sell it, and some of the proceeds can go to a local charity or whatever, Laurel said matter-of-factly.

Good idea Laurel. Laird nodded. I say we go in at below market price and make a quick meal of it. Laurel you can get hold of––

No! The words flew out of Ruby’s mouth. We can’t sell it! It’s our heritage, for God’s sake! It’s the only link we have left to Africa. It’s been in our family for over a century. It’s our legacy. Ruby could feel the blood rushing to her face; she couldn’t believe that the mansion and all it stood for was about to slip away.

Only the crackling of the fire could be heard in the awkward pause that followed Ruby’s outburst. Still standing in front of the fire, Laird cleared his throat. And what on Earth do you propose that we do with the old place?

If no one else wants it then I’ll take it, Ruby said. Finding her courage, she stood up. You say it has little value, but it is situated in a major tourist area, and I think that I could create a successful restaurant there.

Successful? Laurel’s voice dripped with disdain. Like your college career, your jewellery business, and your charred bistro?

Feeling anger and desperation rising in equal measure, Ruby swore there were spots swimming in her field of vision. There’s nothing left for me here! she said, hating the way her voice trembled. I’m through here. I want a fresh start and I really believe that Murray would have hated for the mansion to fall out of the family. That’s why he left it to us.

Ruby, I think that we need to be prudent and to let cool heads prevail here, Laird intoned; he hated emotional scenes.

I think, Moira hesitated, that Ruby has a point. Murray would have wanted the Jacaranda Mansion to stay in the family.

My dear, do you have any idea what that would entail? Ruby hated the way that her father seemed to talk down to her mother.

No, I honestly don’t. But if Ruby feels she is up to the task, then I think we should support her.

Moira, Ruby has no means, and the place is a right mess.

I’ll fix it up, Ruby said. And if my plans don’t work out, then I’ll sell it and put the proceeds into the family trust.

I don’t give a shit, Tony said, standing up. Tiffany says that one of the twins has a temperature, so I’m gonna head home. Sell it, give it to Ruby, whatever. With that Tony left. A minute later the Maserati roared to life and sped down the driveway.

Laird took the seat that Tony had