Underground
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About this ebook
Adrienne Lockley's father was murdered during his police investigation of the disappearance of several runaway girls from a women's help centre. Sixteen years later, Adrienne receives a phone call from socialite Rebecca Kaber who tells her she knows who killed him. Before they can meet Rebecca is found dead. A year ago, Rebecca's husband fell from his boat. His body was never found. Are the deaths coincidental, or is there a connection underground?
Christen Notrelle
Christen Notrelle was born in Brisbane, Australia and has lived in the UK and Canada. A self-confessed travel addict, Christen has jotted down book and plot ideas in cozy cafes, crowded hostels, and more recently, gorgeous pensions around the world. She spends copious amounts of time reading, drinking far too much coffee, and trying to fit in a tap dancing class, playtime with the dog, watching sport, and attempting a science degree. You can find out more about Christen on the web at www.christennotrelle.wordpress.com and www.facebook.com/planetchristen.
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Underground - Christen Notrelle
UNDERGROUND
CHRISTEN NOTRELLE
Copyright © 2018 Christen Notrelle
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.
The people and events in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover Copyright © 2018 BetiBup33 Design Studio
Notrelle Publishing
Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
ONE YEAR EARLIER
CLOSER THAN YOU THINK
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
The weekend had started off okay. I had been back in the country for forty-six hours, returning home from New York City for my twin brother's wedding. In a few weeks, I would be a bridesmaid for Sam's high school sweetheart, Louise Milton. Now I was sitting in a police station giving a statement to my future sister-in-law and her work partner Senior Constable Grant Forbes, after finding the dead body of local business-owner and socialite Rebecca Kaber. Not my idea of fun.
I played with my coffee cup. Grant clicked the record button on the voice recorder and began his questions. I told them my full name, date of birth and current address. Then the real questioning began.
Miss Lockley, tell us about the phone call you received last night.
Grant picked up his pen. His dark brown eyes studied me.
About midnight I received a call from Rebecca Kaber...
I started.
How do you know it was Rebecca Kaber?
Grant interrupted.
She told me that’s who she was. I guess I don’t know for sure.
Go on Adrienne,
Louise said softly, brushing her short blonde hair out of her eye.
She said that she might know something about my father's death.
I stared at my hands.
Did she say what that might be?
asked Grant, looking up from his pad.
No. She said to meet her at the apartment in Mooloolaba at eight o'clock this morning and she would, I assume, tell me.
Rebecca’s call had woken me. I had grabbed the cordless phone from the lounge room coffee table. When I had answered, Rebecca’s slurring voice had apologised for causing my family so much pain. She had said they all had. I wasn’t sure whom they all were, but she hadn’t given me time to ask.
What can you tell us about her state of mind at the time of her call?
Grant asked.
She sounded drunk, I guess.
I looked at Louise and shrugged. She nodded.
How did you know Mrs Kaber?
Grant continued, writing notes as he spoke.
I didn't. I met her briefly yesterday. Mum and I looked at an office block for sale and then went for coffee with the real estate agent at the café across the hall from Rebecca’s boutique. We were introduced. That's it.
We had just arrived at the café below the Cielo Apartments with the real estate agent when Rebecca Kaber had clicked past our table in her stilettos. Her deep red blouse and skirt had matched her lipstick and perfectly manicured fingernails. The agent had called out to her. Rebecca had spun around on her tiny heel, smiled at the agent and crossed her arms.
Have you come to pry my apartment from me?
She’d said, laughing.
Not today. This young lady is looking to purchase property one street back. I thought I'd stop in later to say hi.
Don't let her rip you off,
Rebecca had whispered to me, bending down close enough for me to smell her sweet perfume and get a face full of tanned cleavage. She's a snake.
The agent had laughed out loud, drawing glances from most patrons in the café. Oh, I am not.
Rebecca had turned to my mother, nodding at me. You must be proud of your little entrepreneur.
My mother almost caused me to fall off my chair by saying Adrienne is a wise girl with her money.
I had stared at the woman sitting beside me. She looked like my mother, but I couldn't be sure. What happened to the usual advice telling me that I should get a real job back in Australia? The shock must have registered on my face as Rebecca tilted her head and stared at Mum. She’d looked back at me.
I wish I could say the same about my eldest daughter. Good luck with your purchase Adrienne. It was nice to meet you both.
She had looked back at Mum for a second and gave us a tight smile before strutting over to the counter. My mother had started asking the agent law questions. I had glanced over to the counter and caught Rebecca's eye. She had quickly turned back to the waitress, paid for her coffee and returned to the boutique without a second look. We had said goodbye to the agent and returned to the car.
Louise and Grant were staring at me. I rubbed my forehead. The lack of sleep was catching up with me.
After Rebecca rang I looked her up on the Internet.
I had searched the Web for articles on Rebecca Kaber and her family. The local newspaper's archives had dozens of articles. I had written down names to check out later.
Did you know her husband, Nick?
Grant asked.
Only from the articles I searched.
I tucked my shoulder-length black hair behind my ear. I had read that Nick Kaber was the son of a famous Maleny horse breeder and had married twice, producing a son and daughter from the first marriage and two daughters from the marriage to Rebecca. He had died of a heart attack the year before.
Ever met their daughters?
asked Grant.
No.
Agitation built in my chest. Louise touched my arm. I slumped back in the chair.
Grant continued. Okay. Tell us what happened when you arrived at the Cielo building this morning?
The café had been alive with chatter, crying babies and crunching newspapers and the wait staff had flown around the room in what appeared to be organised chaos. In contrast, Rebecca's boutique had sat in quiet darkness.
I arrived just before eight and met the shop assistant outside the boutique. She was waiting for Rebecca to open the door for her. We went up to Rebecca's apartment and found her in the chair.
The front door was open?
Grant asked, briefly looking up at me.
Yes. It was ajar.
Do you think she left it open for you?
he asked.
I don't know. Not for me. I wouldn't be able to get up there without a key card for the lift. The girl had one. That's how we got up there. She said she's had to do it before when Rebecca didn't make it downstairs to open the boutique.
Did you touch the...Mrs Kaber?
Grant asked, softly.
No. The girl shook her because she thought she was unconscious. Rebecca’s eyes were open. I guess she hadn’t noticed.
If they didn't hurry up with the questioning, I feared the whole incident would fade from my mind. I had snapped a few photos of the scene but hadn’t told anyone.
What happened after you realised she was dead?
asked Grant.
The girl ran to the bathroom, and I called Sam.
You didn't touch anything?
he asked.
I don't think so. Not Rebecca anyway. I went to check on the girl, then you guys arrived.
Do you think the shop assistant could have been up there earlier?
he asked.
My head snapped up. No. Well, obviously, I don't know that for sure, but she was annoyed that Rebecca wasn't downstairs to open the shop. She freaked out when we realised she was dead.
Can you think of anything else that may be able to help us?
Louise asked gently.
I shrugged. Everything is a blur. If I think of anything, I'll let you know.
They stood up. Grant thanked me for my statement. I signed a piece of paper, not reading it. I paused to ask the next question.
I am going home, aren't I?
Of course you are,
assured Louise.
Grant's eyes studied me. We had met a few times but didn't really know each other. He gestured for me to walk out of the room. I followed Louise out to the reception area. An officer was bringing in a tall, young drunk guy. He was rambling on about needing a bucket of chicken and a Mountain Dew from KFC. The officer smirked and led him through to a holding cell.
My brother flung the front door open. He was off duty, so he wore board shorts and a washed-out old t-shirt.
Sorry, Ren. I would have got here sooner, but there was an accident on the motorway.
Sam swung an arm around my shoulder. Are you okay?
Yeah.
Is she right to go Lou?
he asked.
Louise nodded. Call me if you need me, Ren?
Thanks, I will.
I followed Sam out the door and headed towards the car park. I pulled out my car keys. Sam took them from me. Guess I'm not driving.
It was almost lunchtime. Sam drove my old brown Landcruiser along the esplanade. The temperature was edging closer to eighteen degrees Celsius, but the wind had a chill to it. The beach was swarming with people. The early morning surfers were strapping their surfboards to their cars' roof racks and heading home for lunch after a long morning's surf, while the tourists were just arriving. It was the beginning of school holidays, and although for us northerners it was the middle of winter, and far too cold to venture near the water, the southerners loved it. Hopefully, the tourists wouldn't feel the need to read our local papers or watch the news.
You haven't told Mum, have you?
I asked.
No. She'll find out eventually.
God, I wonder how the Kaber kids are going. They’ve lost both parents in a short space of time.
I rubbed my arms to warm up, while my car heated up.
I can find out for you,
said Sam. Shiralise, the younger one, works at Grant's parents’ caravan park and service station. She even has her own van there.
She stays there by herself?
I asked.
Bob and Marlene live out the back of the shop. Shiralise does the graveyard shifts for them. If she has any problems, she buzzes them. I think it’s locked up except for the window at the front.
I stared out the window of the car, watching the holiday apartments fly by. Towels hung on half the balconies.
Do you really think she killed herself?
I asked.
Sam turned to me. Rebecca Kaber?
Yeah. I mean she calls me to say she might know who killed Dad and then ends up dead. That's a bit weird.
Sam shrugged and ground his teeth, slowing down for a red light. Traffic was building, and impatient drivers blasted horns at slow cars.
Do you want to stay at my place?
he asked. I'd feel better if you weren't all the way out there by yourself.
I'll need to get some clothes. I can drop you back at work and go home and get it.
Let's grab some lunch and then go get your stuff.
He'd made up his mind. The uneasiness in my stomach stopped me from protesting.
THE HOUSE CAME INTO view as we rounded the bend. The old Queenslander had been our grandparents' house for most of their married lives. It sat on fifteen acres of land not far from the Maroochy River. The white paint had started peeling from the walls, and the verandah looked a little worse for wear. Otherwise, the house looked just as it had when Sam and I visited as children. My mother had organised for a removalist to deliver some of my furniture, and she and Sam had set it up for me during the week. The last lot of tenants had looked after the place for me. The only reason they had left was to travel around Australia for a year before they settled down and started a family. This gave me the option of staying if I wanted.
Sam's eyes swept the whole property. I jumped down and slammed my door. The keys to the house were on my car keys, so I followed Sam to the door. He unlocked it, slowly pushed it open and stopped just inside, raising a hand to stop me. Only the fridge motor disturbed the silence. Sam motioned for me to come in and proceeded to check every room.
Stuffy air greeted me as I stepped inside. Although the tenants had left just two weeks prior to my return, the rooms exuded an air of emptiness. The whole place was quiet except for a few magpies calling to each other outside in the gum tree beside the shed. The silence was a welcome change from the noise of traffic in New York City, where I had spent the last four months. Before that, I had called London home for two years.
I sat at the small kitchen table, waiting. Sam walked in and sat down opposite me. We unwrapped our sandwiches in silence. I stood up to boil the jug.