Dead and gone, p.1
Dead and Gone, page 1
Table of Contents
PRAISE FOR SHERRYL CLARK
DEAD AND GONE | SHERRYL CLARK
For Karen, with love always
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
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEAD FLOWERS
For more information about Crime Fiction go to @crimetimeuk | Sign up for our newsletter: vervebooks.co.uk/newsletter
PRAISE FOR SHERRYL CLARK
‘This novel is a page-turner and the action is pretty much full on; kidnap, murder, gangster wars, a McGuffin and a decent cop’ – NB Magazine
‘On show in Trust Me, I’m Dead is finesse with character development and plot, in this case thermostatically synced to the reader’s imagination’ – The Westsider
‘Gripping and disturbing, Clark delves into dark places close to home. Trust Me, I’m Dead will linger in your mind after you have read it’ – Leigh Russell
‘This felt like an impeccably planned treasure hunt with tension interwoven into the story to lasso my attention right to the end. I’ll be watching for the author’s next crime fiction offering!’ – A Knight's Reads
‘Trust Me, I’m Dead is an intense, addictive read with enough action to get your heart beating and characters to die for’ – Chocolate'n'Waffles
For Karen, with love always
Chapter 1
The sharp crack of gunfire made me jump, even though it was the third time I’d heard it that morning. The orchard owners down the road had bought a new bird-scarer, and the valley and the clear spring air acted like a sound tunnel.
I bent down to pull out the weeds around my snow peas and groaned, cursing the ever-present ache in my hip. The fancy new natural health centre up the road was no better than crusty old Dr Donald, the physiotherapist I’d been going to for several years. That last visit to the kinesiologist had cost me $70. She wouldn’t be getting any more of my money.
Mia wandered past me, eating a slice of apple and following the scrawny tortoiseshell cat we’d adopted after it had been dumped on my front lawn. I watched her chase the cat past the gardens and, when it escaped under the fence, she turned back to me. ‘Kitty gone.’
‘Yep. It must’ve known you were going to grab its tail again.’ That was Mia’s favourite trick. I shook my head. She was a different kid from the traumatised two-year-old I’d ‘inherited’ four months ago. Right now, she was trying to blow seeds off a dandelion head and giggling when it tickled her nose. Not for the first time, I wished my brother Andy could see her now. But since he was dead, it’d have to be his angel looking down that watched over her, if you believed that crap. I still couldn’t believe I’d got sucked into going to a kinesiologist, of all things.
‘Come on, kid, I’ve got to get ready for work. And you have to decide what toys you’re taking to Aunty Joleen’s.’
I didn’t want to be working at the local hotel, but I had no choice. My own fault. I couldn’t bear to rent or sell Andy’s house in Melbourne that had once belonged to our nana, and I was determined not to touch the life insurance Andy had left for Mia. That meant I was continually broke these days, so a job had become a necessity. The pub owner, Pete Macclesfield, known everywhere as Big Macca, had offered me a job managing the place. Macca was great like that, and we’d become good mates. I’d helped him out a few times before, and knew his accounts and paperwork were getting the better of him, so it was win-win for both of us. At least I wasn’t stuck behind the bar, pulling beer, although I still did that when it was really busy.
Like today would be. Race day at Bendigo, further north of us, so the accommodation was full up and the Melbourne yuppies who came up for the day in busloads would be sure to include the historic Candlebark Hotel on their pub crawl home. Thank God I had young Billy and Mike Somers who were our security guards on the weekends, and I could call on Connor for urgent stuff, like full-on brawls or visiting bikies. It was handy having the local cop as your good mate!
I bustled Mia into the car with her usual huge bagload of gear and dropped her off at Joleen’s on the way to the hotel. Joleen had been a godsend for someone like me who’d never had a kid before, and no idea where to start. She’d also been the one who sussed out that Mia was way too quiet for a kid her age, and got her into play therapy two mornings a week until she started coming out of her shell and talking more.
And all along I’d thought it was me being such a fabulous fill-in parent that was the reason for her good behaviour. Yeah, right. At least she was almost toilet-trained now. That saved me a fair bit of money each week in nappies.
I parked my old Benz around the back of the hotel, out of the way beside the wooden lattice fence that walled off the delivery and kitchen door area. I didn’t need any drunks reversing into it. I unlocked and pushed through the side door, making sure to lock it again behind me. Automatic security I’d insisted on when I started work here. Big Macca was too much of a country boy, leaving doors open everywhere. I had my own history of someone creeping in after closing time at my pub in Melbourne and nearly killing me – that wasn’t going to happen again.
‘Hey, Judi.’ Mike Somers came out of the staff toilet, knotting his tie. ‘Ready for the war?’
‘Now, now, you mustn’t think of our valued customers as enemies,’ I said, grinning.
Mike laughed. ‘Nah, just dickheads and perves, hey?’
‘Don’t tell me – Suzie is wearing her special black top again.’
‘Yep. Billy’s been picking up eyeballs left, right and centre.’
I shook my head. Suzie had a great smile, along with a special low-cut, very tight black jersey top that showed off her bust to great advantage. She claimed that top made her more tips than anything else she owned, and she was probably right. She wasn’t the type to chat up the customers and flirt too much, though – she had a sharp wit that tended to cut guys down to size in one sentence. But not until after the tips had been handed over, of course.
I followed Mike out to the bar areas and scanned each one to see what the current situation was. The public bar still had a few locals in it, but they’d leave when the race crowd arrived. It pissed me off that the locals felt shoved out of their home turf, but the public bar was too big to keep just for them, and it made too much money on race days.
The lounge bar had two small groups in it, punters who’d left the track early, maybe because they’d lost all their money on betting. The bistro was empty, but I could see the chef, Andre, in the kitchen, getting things ready for the onslaught. Racegoers tended to eat late – they drank all day and snacked on rubbish at the track, then got the munchies around eight or nine at night. Andre hated the late rush, and we’d had to promise him triple pay after nine to pacify him. Well, I’d promised him triple. I still hadn’t cleared it with Big Macca yet.
I wondered where the hell Big Macca was. He usually liked to be around on race days, hobnobbing with the wannabe rich and famous, but yesterday he’d told me he was going to be out for the day.
‘Got a business deal I have to take care of,’ he said. ‘Sorry to leave you in charge of everything, but you’ll be right, won’t you?’
‘As long as Mike and Billy are here.’
‘Yep, the whole staff are on, don’t worry. I’ll definitely be back by the evening rush.’ But Big Macca had looked worried, his eyes shifting from side to side, and I was still wondering what the hell he was up to. I knew the hotel wasn’t doing very well. Country race days were a bonus, but there were only half a dozen weekend races a year near us. The rest of the time, it was as quiet as the grave, so to speak.
The front door swung open and a crowd of racegoers fell in, laughing and holding each other up. All young ones, under twenty-five, the girls in Lycra dresses up around their bums and the guys wearing hats that made them look like they’d stepped out of Squizzy Taylor’s 1920s gang. They charged to the bar in the lounge area, and one of the guys started yelling. ‘Hey, big boobs, how about some service?’
I took a step towards the bar but Suzie already had it in hand. ‘I don’t serve rude dickheads,’ she said. ‘Now if you ask nicely, you might get a drink.’
‘Ooohhh,’ was the reply. ‘She’s not impressed with me.’ The guy took off his hat and bowed, staggering a little as he straightened again. ‘Pardon me, madam, may I purchase some drinks in this fine establishment?’
Suzie grinned. ‘What’ll you have?’
I left her to it and paid Andre a little visit. ‘All set for tonight?’
He pouted, and flung his hands out. ‘It’s wasted on these drunk peasants. Why do I stay here when I’m not appreciated?’
I sighed. He had this routine down pat, and I heard it at least once a week. I wasn’t in the mood for it today. ‘Because you’ve got a criminal record, mate, and we’re the only place that would take you on. And,’ I added, as he looked like he was about to sulk, and I couldn’t afford that, ‘you are appreciated. We love your food, and if you play your cards right, one of these days one of the peasants will turn out to be a famous foo d critic, and you’ll be made. OK?’
‘OK.’ He flapped a tea towel and folded it neatly. ‘So what do you want for dinner?’
‘Whatever you think I’ll enjoy,’ I said, knowing it would be delicious. For all his tantrums, which were normal for chefs anyway, Andre created bloody good food.
I headed into the office and checked over the paperwork sitting in the in-tray, and cursed. Big Macca was supposed to sort out the bills yesterday, but obviously nothing had been done. I didn’t like logging in to the account and paying out money without consulting him first, so I’d have to get on to it as soon as he turned up.
The phone rang, startling me. ‘Candlebark Hotel. Judi speaking.’
‘Hi, Jude. How’s it looking?’ It was Connor, checking in.
‘Same as usual. The young ones come in first, all drunk. They must get bored, watching horses run around the track.’ I took the portable phone with me and peered out into each bar again. ‘What time’s the last race?’
‘Finished around quarter to five.’
‘We’ll be in full chaos mode in about half an hour then. You calling in later?’
‘Yeah, for sure. It’s always good to be seen, hey?’ Connor liked to wander through the bars a couple of times during the evening as a warning to anyone in the mood for trouble.
‘Certainly is. See you later.’
‘How’s Mia? She at Joleen’s?’
‘Yes, but if Uncle Connor wanted to call in there, too, she’d be happy to see you.’
‘Might just do that.’
Nobody had been more surprised than Connor when I’d returned to Candlebark from Melbourne with a kid in tow, but when he discovered she was my niece, Connor kind of adopted her. He was great with her, better than me, but that wouldn’t be hard. I was still referring every five minutes to the baby book Heath had given me.
Heath. Detective Sergeant Ben Heath. We’d met when my brother, Andy, had been murdered, and we’d been at loggerheads from the start. It was just about the worst way to meet someone, and then find out you were attracted to them. Ugh. I’d tried hard enough to pretend it wasn’t happening, and so did he, but nothing had come of it anyway. Being over a hundred kilometres apart didn’t help, but I had been to Melbourne half a dozen times in the past few months. We just never seemed to get together at the right time, in the right place. Like anywhere near a bedroom. Mia didn’t help either. Now I knew why people said having kids killed your sex life.
I shook myself and put the phone back on the cradle, and went to check the guest register to see who was in tonight.
Carl Cammiston and party. Three rooms. He was a horse owner from up the bush, an old mate of Macca’s, who had dreams of winning the Melbourne Cup, but he couldn’t afford a decent horse so he kept buying long shots and hoping he’d found a gem. Bit like shopping in op shops and hoping you’d discover a Balenciaga. Carl was a good bloke, but his wife was a total pain in the arse. Thought that having a big farm, racehorses and lots of money made her queen of something. After a few drinks, her laugh would strip wallpaper off the walls. I wondered who else Carl had brought with him this time. No doubt I’d find out shortly.
Kevin Benson was a trainer who often stayed with us. The other names were all vaguely familiar, except for Nick Simonetti – he was new.
The front door banged a few times and the noise levels in the bars gradually increased. Time for me to wander around and do the schmooze thing. Big Macca’s trick was to ensconce himself at the end of the lounge bar with a glass of scotch and buy drinks for his favourite customers. That didn’t work for me and never had, not even when I’d owned the pub in Melbourne with my scumbag ex-husband, Max. I liked to be behind the bar, getting to know people, or chatting to them as I walked around. That way, I covered the lot rather than just the ones who wanted to suck up for a free drink, like they did with Big Macca.
Where the hell was he, anyway? He never missed race days.
I shrugged mentally and thought it would save us a couple of hundred dollars in free drinks, at least. He’d probably turn up later, just in time to upset Andre by demanding steak and chips at midnight.
In the lounge bar, Carl and his wife had arrived and sat at the head of a bunch of tables pulled together; already they had three bottles of prosecco sitting in ice buckets, with a dozen people swigging it down. I filled some bowls with nuts and snacks and took them over. ‘Looks like you had a great day, Carl,’ I said, smiling at everyone like a good hostess should.
‘Two winners, Judi.’ Carl’s beam could’ve powered half of Candlebark. ‘And a second and a third. All four horses did bloody well!’
‘That’s great. Melbourne Cup next stop, is it?’
‘You never know!’ He laughed uproariously, and poured me a glass. ‘Here, have one with me.’
‘Thanks.’ I didn’t usually drink with customers, but Carl was worth a bit of money to us so it was a good idea to help him celebrate a little. Mrs Carl was sprawled on the corner seat next to him, and she looked almost ready to pass out. At least she was quiet.
‘Where’s the big man?’ Carl asked.
‘Gone out on business, I think,’ I said. ‘He’ll probably turn up any minute. Cheers.’ I toasted him with my glass and took a sip. Ugh. Prosecco was my least favourite wine, but I smiled and kept moving.
All the bars had filled quickly, and I moved behind the lounge counter with Suzie who was serving ten people at once, laughing and joking. I stuck to the older punters who wanted a simple beer or a glass of wine and left the champagne cocktails to her.
Mike strolled past me with a nod, and was no sooner out the door towards the public bar than a ruckus started. It was the early arrivals, now scuffling with each other while the girls looked on and screamed and cried. ‘Kenny, stop it!’ screamed a blonde. ‘You’re ruining everything!’ She was in shocking pink with a fascinator that had taken on a sideways lean so that the feathers poked out behind her left ear.
Mike returned with Billy behind him and within five minutes, the band of travellers were on their way home. Billy came past me and I waved at him. ‘Hope they had a sober driver.’
‘Yep, someone who was asleep in the hire van. Seemed OK to drive.’
‘Good.’ We didn’t need an accident down the road to be blamed on us. Responsible service of alcohol – it was fine in theory but if people were determined to write themselves off, they’d find a way to do it. Still, I was known as the dragon who took people’s keys.
Carl’s party wandered off towards the bistro for dinner and I checked my watch – just after 7pm. Andre would be happy. I chatted with Old Jock who lived down near the river and poured him a beer.
‘You coming down with something, Jock?’ I asked. ‘You don’t look well.’
Jock started and shook his head. ‘Right as rain,’ he mumbled.
‘Macca should be back soon. He’ll cheer you up.’
Jock just nodded and stared into his beer. I turned to find a dark, surly-looking man standing at the bar.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ I asked.
‘No. I want my room key,’ he said. His tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I took a breath before I answered him.
‘Come out to the reception area, sir, and I’ll sort you out.’ I meant, sign you in, but it didn’t quite come out that way. He followed me out of the lounge bar, dogging my heels, and I quickened my steps to get away from him, scooting in behind the desk.
‘What was your name?’
‘Nick Simonetti. I booked.’ He kept looking at me and then scanning the reception area as if expecting someone to be hiding behind the ficus tree or the coat stand.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said pleasantly. ‘Your credit card?’
He handed over a platinum job that virtually sparkled in my hand. I kept my face blank and ran it through the machine, then gave it back to him. ‘You’re in Room 7, up the stairs and turn right. Do you need a hand with your bags?’
‘Room 7 got its own bathroom?’
‘Yes, all our rooms do. It’s a suite, which is what you booked.’ In fact, Carl had also asked for it and been a bit miffed that someone had beaten him to it.
