ONCE UPON A LIE (A Fitzjohn Mystery) Page 10

  Fitzjohn sank in to one of the leather chairs in front of the desk, delighting in its comfort and, at the same time, aware of Maxwell’s distain. ‘I’m investigating the death of a man by the name of Michael Rossi, Mr Maxwell, and my inquiries have led me to you.’ Fitzjohn met Maxwell’s intense gaze. ‘Primarily because I understand you knew the victim’s sister, Claudia Rossi.’

  ‘Claudia? Yes, I did know her. She did restoration work for me. She died some time ago.’

  ‘Speaking of which. When did you last see Claudia Rossi, Mr Maxwell’

  ‘Oh.’ Maxwell’s brow wrinkled. ‘I’m not exactly sure of the date, but I know it was shortly before she died. That was in July 2010.’

  ‘July 17th, 2010, to be exact. A Saturday,’ said Fitzjohn.

  ‘You’re well informed, Chief Inspector. And that makes it easy for me because I know Claudia came to see me the Sunday before she died. So, the last time I saw her would have been July 11th. As I remember, she wanted to ask about the provenance of a piece of art that the New South Wales Gallery had purchased. She worked for the Gallery. But I suppose you know that too.’

  Ignoring Maxwell’s last remark Fitzjohn continued. ‘The matter must have been urgent for you to open the gallery specifically for her.’

  ‘Well, at the time, Claudia seemed to think so, but as it turned out, it was a minor misunderstanding in that she had contacted the wrong person about the provenance.’

  ‘How long did your meeting last?’

  ‘About forty-five minutes as I remember. What exactly are you trying to find out, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Who killed her, Mr Maxwell.’

  Maxwell’s chair brought him forward with a jolt, his face contorted. ‘I don’t understand. I thought Claudia died of liver failure.’

  Fitzjohn returned to Kings Cross Police Station somewhat annoyed, Maxwell’s pompous demeanor having exhausted his patience. He found Betts in the Incident Room sitting back with his legs on his desk. ‘I’m glad you have time to relax, Detective Sergeant,’ he said as he walked into the room. Betts’s feet hit the floor with a thud.

  ‘How did you get on with Charlotte Rossi?’

  ‘I didn’t, sir. That is. According to her shop assistant, she’s away until Thursday. She and Esme Timmons have gone to the winery. I had a bit more luck at the New South Wales Art Gallery though. Someone remembered Michael Rossi asking to speak to Marian Davies. Apparently, she and Claudia used to work together.’

  ‘And…?’

  ‘It’s a ‘but’, sir. Ms Davies is attending a funeral in rural New South Wales. She’s expected back in Sydney tomorrow.’

  Fitzjohn sighed. ‘Right. Then I want to see her as soon as she gets back. Let’s hope Michael Rossi did seek her out. I also want to ask her if she knows anything about Claudia Rossi’s dealings with Aiden Maxwell.’

  ‘How did it go with Aiden Maxwell?’ asked Betts.

  ‘He confirmed that Claudia did restoration work for him, and that he had a meeting with her a week before she died. Apparently, it was to do with a painting that the New South Wales Art Gallery had purchased. Marian Davies will probably know about it seeing that she and Claudia Rossi were colleagues.’

  CHAPTER 14

  The unique smell peculiar to old bookshops and libraries permeated the air as Charlotte opened the door on Monday morning. She had hoped for a few minutes to herself before her assistant, Irene Forbes, arrived, but it was not to be. Irene, her thick frame balanced precariously on a stepladder, was already busy flicking a red duster along the spines of the books on one of the top shelves, while humming to herself. When the little gold bell on the back of the bookshop door sounded, she turned suddenly. A diligent and trustworthy assistant, yes; Charlotte knew she was lucky to have Irene, but today she suspected that Irene’s incessant gushiness would grate on her nerves.

  ‘Charlotte. You poor thing,’ she said climbing down, her feet hitting the floor with a clump. ‘I heard about your Uncle Michael over the weekend, and I’m so sorry.’ Irene scurried across the room. ‘I didn’t expect you to come in today. Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?’

  ‘Actually, I won’t be here for long,’ said Charlotte, moving passed Irene to the desk at the back corner of the bookshop. ‘I’m driving up to Five Oaks and taking Esme with me. This whole affair has been difficult for her.’ Charlotte sat down not wanting to elaborate. Instead, she watched the red duster move along the edge of the desk, and waited for Irene’s inquisitive nature to move in to gear.

  ‘I’m sure it has. Esme must be devastated. I suppose it’s too early for the police to know who did it.’

  Charlotte met Irene’s look of anticipation. ‘Yes, it’s far too early to know anything.’ Charlotte sifted through the mail on the desk, hoping to dissuade her assistant from asking any further questions. She tossed the usual advertising material aside until she came to a long narrow envelope and a smaller one, both from ‘Spencer, Anderson & Sumner, Solicitors.’ Irene’s duster came to an abrupt halt.

  ‘Those two envelopes were delivered by courier just after I arrived this morning,’ she offered. ‘The long one is the type used for wills. I know because I once worked in a solicitor’s office. Did I ever tell you about that?’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’ Charlotte put the envelopes aside and got to her feet, aware her annoyance was beginning to show. ‘I think I’ll make a cup of coffee. Would you like one, Irene?’

  Irene’s gaze shifted from the envelopes to Charlotte. ‘Yes, in fact, why don’t I make it? You carry on here.’

  Charlotte waited until Irene disappeared in to the small kitchen at the rear of the bookshop before she picked up the smaller of the two envelopes, tore it open and read its contents.

  “Dear Ms Rossi,

  This is to advise that you have been named in Michael Rossi’s Last Will and Testament as the beneficiary of his fifty percent share in Five Oaks Winery. A copy of Mr Rossi’s will has been sent under separate cover for your perusal.

  Please contact my office at your earliest convenience for further details in this matter.

  Yours sincerely

  David W. Spencer

  Principal,

  Spencer Anderson Sumner, Solicitors”

  Charlotte sat back feeling a mixture of relief as well as sadness. Relief because Michael had left his shares in the winery to her, and sadness in the way she had come by them. As these thoughts ran through her mind, Irene reappeared with two steaming mugs of coffee.

  ‘I hope it wasn’t bad news,’ she said, putting the two mugs on the desk before pulling up the nearest chair.

  ‘No, it wasn’t.’ As Irene sat down, Charlotte realised she was about to face a barrage of questions. ‘Oh. I didn’t realise the time,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘We’d better open up.’ Reluctantly, Irene bustled away, and Charlotte slid the letter from the solicitor, and the large envelope containing the will, in to her handbag. When she looked back up, Pierce Whitehead was standing in front of her desk.

  ‘Pierce.’

  ‘Hello, Charlotte. I heard about Michael and I came by to offer both my condolences, and my support. Is there anything I can do?’ he asked, pulling up a chair.

  Charlotte tensed as she usually did when faced with Pierce Whitehead’s unpleasant suave. ‘Thanks, but there isn’t.’

  ‘Well then, I want you to promise me that if you need anything, anything at all, you’ll let me know. And I want to assure you I don’t know anything about Michael’s death.’

  Charlotte’s hand knocked her mug of coffee sending droplets over its edge. She grabbed a tissue to soak them up and glared at Pierce. ‘The thought never entered my mind,’ she replied.

  ‘Even so, I felt I should say something because as you can appreciate, with Michael firing me after that row we had in the middle of the harvest, it could be construed…’

  ‘Michael fired you?’

  ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know.’ Charlotte’s skin tingled as Pierce’s mood changed to one o
f indignation. ‘I suppose he told you I quit.’

  Charlotte bristled. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, he did.’

  Pierce sat back holding up his hands. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you. It’s just that my whole life has been turned upside down. Same for you, I guess, with what’s happened to Michael.’ When Charlotte did not reply, Pierce continued. ‘Are you still planning on selling Five Oaks? It’s just that if you don’t sell, I feel compelled to mention that…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s just a word of warning that’s all. About Rafe Simms.’

  ‘Rafe? What about him?’

  ‘I don’t know if you’re aware,’ said Pierce, ‘but Rafe Simms has coveted Five Oaks for years as did his father before him.’

  Charlotte frowned. ‘Is that what my mother told you?’

  ‘Not in so many words, no, but she did make it clear that she didn’t like Rafe Simms or his family.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ said Charlotte, ‘but I don’t think it had anything to do with the winery.’ Charlotte threw the coffee soaked tissue in to the wastepaper bin. At the same time, she noticed the growing number of people now browsing the shelves of the bookshop. ‘Will you excuse me for a minute, Pierce, while I attend to my customers?’

  ‘Yes, of course. In fact, I’ve got to go anyway’ Pierce jumped to his feet. ‘But before I do, I want to thank you for standing as my referee for the winery position. I do appreciate it.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. I’m happy to oblige,’ replied Charlotte.

  Relieved as the door closed behind Pierce Whitehead, Charlotte turned and smiled at a woman approaching with a book in her hand. ‘Good morning, madam. Sorry to keep you waiting.’ A number of thoughts raced through Charlotte’s mind as she served her customer, not the least of which was her impending visit to Five Oaks, and seeing Rafe Simms again.

  Esme, dressed in a pair of white slacks and a pale pink blouse, settled herself in to the passenger seat of Charlotte’s car as they set off for the Hunter Valley and Five Oaks Winery. ‘I’m really looking forward to seeing the place again,’ said Esme. ‘The last time I was there was when we had that surprise party for your mother’s fiftieth birthday.’ Esme fingered the pearl necklace she wore and looked out of the side window of the car as Charlotte maneuvered her way through the traffic on the Pacific Highway. ‘Of course, when I was young, I spent quite a bit of time there. Especially during harvest time,’ she continued. ‘Your grandfather liked to get as much help as possible.’ Esme sighed. ‘They were such good times.’

  ‘We’ll have a lovely couple of days, Esme,’ said Charlotte. ‘It’s just what we both need.’

  ‘I’m sure it is, my dear.’

  They fell in to silence until they emerged from the city on to the open freeway and Esme surfaced from her thoughts of days gone by. ‘Have you made a decision about whether you’ll pursue the provenance of that sketch, Charlotte, because I’ve been thinking, having the provenance correct will be invaluable if you decide to sell.’

  ‘I had decided not to bother Esme, but last night I found the name of a previous owner in that report. A man by the name of Douglas Porteous. I thought I’d contact him to get the name of the person he bought the sketch from.’

  Passing through Cessnock they drove on until the car topped a small rise in the road, and there before them lay a patchwork of vineyards stretching as far as the eye could see. Esme took a breath. ‘Oh, look at that. Such simple beauty.’

  Charlotte slowed the car when they neared Five Oaks Winery, its entrance marked only by a small sign moving gently with the breeze. Turning in to the property they continued on along the dirt road, the rows of vines on each side standing like sentinels to the family’s years of wine growing. In the distance, the original river stone cottage with its various extensions came in to view. Surrounded by lawns and giant trees, it appeared a cool oasis in the blazing sun. Charlotte pulled up at the base of the steps leading on to the wide verandah.

  ‘It seems very quiet,’ said Esme, getting out of the car. ‘I thought it’d be a beehive of activity with the harvest in full swing.’

  ‘So did I,’ replied Charlotte, looking back over the vineyard. Perhaps they’ve finished.’ Charlotte carried the bags on to the verandah where she set them down and opened the front door.

  ‘Oh, it’s good to come back,’ said Esme as she walked in to the front hall. ‘This house always did have such a comfortable atmosphere.’

  Charlotte set the bags down. ‘I’ll help you get settled, Esme.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that, dear. I know you’re anxious to find out about the harvest so why don’t you go along and do that. I’ll be fine here. I’m going to have a look around, and then I’ll make myself a cup of tea.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure, Esme. I won’t be long.’

  With apprehension tinged with excitement, Charlotte stepped back outside and walked toward the building that housed the cool room where the grapes were stored. It was the first time she had been back to Five Oaks since that fateful day, eighteen months earlier when Richard Edwards had telephoned to say that her mother had been hospitalised with liver failure. The day her life changed forever. Rounding the side of the old building, she could see Rafe’s battered green truck parked outside the main entrance. The door to the cool room stood ajar. Tentatively, Charlotte peeked inside to find his tall frame enveloped in a pair of jeans and a white shirt. He looked up when she appeared. ‘Hello, Rafe.’

  In his mid-thirties, Rafe’s aquiline features froze. ‘Charlotte.’

  Charlotte could feel his unease. ‘I’m sorry. I should have let you know I was coming.’

  ‘No, not at all. You just took me by surprise, that’s all. It’s wonderful to see you,’ he said haltingly. ‘I’m sorry about Michael. I couldn’t believe it when I heard.’ As the words left his lips, another voice sounded from outside.

  ‘Rafe. Are you in there? I’m returning your phone. You left it in my…’ Charlotte turned to see a tall young woman with long auburn hair and almond shaped eyes. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said cheerily. ‘I didn’t realise we had company.’

  ‘Sally, this is Charlotte Rossi,’ said Rafe. ‘Michael’s niece.’

  ‘Oh.’ An awkward silence filled the room before Sally continued. ‘Sally Webster, I’m pleased to meet you, Charlotte,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘I’m sorry about your uncle. We both are. Aren’t we, darling?’ she said, looking up at Rafe as she moved to his side. ‘If there’s anything we can do...’

  Charlotte tried to gather herself. ‘That’s kind of you, but I think everything that can be done is being done. We just have to wait to see what the police investigation reveals.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Sally paused. ‘Actually I feel like I know you already.’ With Charlotte’s questioning look, Sally continued. ‘I’m managing the wine tasting cellar for Rafe, but I’ve also been helping with the paperwork concerning your grape harvest. Speaking of which, I’m going to have to get back over to the office to finish it off,’ she said, squeezing Rafe’s forearm and handing him his phone. ‘I hope to see you again while you’re here, Charlotte.’

  ‘I hope so too,’ lied Charlotte, her initial elation at seeing Rafe quelled as she watched Sally’s receding back. Why did she feel like this? After all, she was the one who had ended their relationship. Did she expect Rafe to be here, alone, waiting for her? A void of silence followed Sally’s departure. ‘I take it you’ve finished the harvest,’ she said at last, in an attempt to fill that silence.

  ‘Yes. As of late yesterday. I’ll be depositing the agreed amount in to Five Oaks Winery’s bank account when Sally’s completed the paperwork.’ Another silence followed before Rafe said. ‘Sally’s on a working holiday from the UK. I hired her when I opened the wine tasting cellar at the beginning of the summer. She’s helped me get it off the ground. She has experience in marketing...’

  ‘It’s okay, Rafe. You don’t have to explain.’ Charlotte bit
her upper lip. ‘Life goes on. I should have let you know I was driving up from Sydney.’ Another awkward silence ensued, Charlotte’s thoughts spinning out of control. Why had she come here unannounced?

  ‘If there’s anything I can do to help while you’re here, Charlotte, you only have to ask. I know it’s a difficult time.’

  Taking the opportunity to change the direction of the conversation Charlotte replied, ‘I did want to ask you about Michael. I thought you might know why he returned to Sydney on Friday. It was so unlike him to change his plans.’

  ‘You’re right, it was, but as I told the police, Michael didn’t say why he was leaving early. He just said something had come up and he had to get back. We’d spent the morning together. I showed him the progress we’d made with the harvest and after lunch, I left him in the study at the house to look for the extra set of keys to the property, as well as the necessary papers regarding the winery before the real estate agent arrived. When I next saw him, oh, probably half an hour later, he said he was leaving.’

  ‘I wonder what happened in that half hour,’ Charlotte said as if to herself.

  ‘I don’t know, but he was speaking to someone on the phone when I went in to see him. And he looked fairly distressed. I told the police. I’m sure they’ll find out who he spoke to when they check out his phone.’

  Charlotte started toward the door. ‘I’d better get back to the house. I brought Esme with me and I want to help her get settled.’

  ‘How long are you staying?’ asked Rafe as they emerged from the building.

  ‘Just a couple of nights.’

  ‘Are you planning on going ahead with the sale?’ he asked. ‘It’s just that the real estate agent left me his card when he finally got here last Friday and I said I’d pass it on. I’ve got it here.’ Rafe pulled out his wallet and gave Charlotte the card.

  ‘Thanks.’ Charlotte studied the card. ‘I’ll give him a ring. He needs to know that the property can’t be listed until Michael’s estate is finalised. Which is just as well because I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet. Selling Five Oaks was really Michael’s idea not mine.’ Charlotte gave a quick smile.