Murder, Mayhem & Men On Pause

Sandy Curtis

Description

A bankrupt husband, a dead body, and a copy more sexy than the legal limit.
Just when Ellie Cummins is free to shed her corporate wife image, she finds the body of a young woman in an apartment she’s been hired to re-design. Her fledgling business depends on this contract, so she tries to ignore the long-buried grief the trauma exposes.
When Ellie learns her daughter has a personal connection to the victim, and the police have no leads, she and friends Cass and Kandy decide to investigate the murder. But Brisbane’s alleyways are dark and their detective skills dubious, so how far will they go for justice?
Kandy once lived a hard life on the streets, but will uncovering her husband's secret life destroy all she’s achieved since then?
Is solid, dependable Cass as content with her life as she seems?
And is the cop who responded to their call more interested in Ellie than the investigation?
For the three friends, it's a time of change and self-discovery. And the realisation that life, like love, doesn’t play fair.

Sujets

• Women Sleuths
• Detective
• Mystery
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Clan Destine Press
• Date de parution: 01 juillet 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781922904485
• Langue: English

Extrait

MURDER, MAYHEM
AND MEN ON PAUSE




by


Sandy Curtis

First published by Clan Destine Press in 2023

Clan Destine Press
PO Box 121, Bittern
Victoria, 3918 Australia

Copyright © Sandy Curtis 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including internet search engines and retailers, electronic or mechanical, photocopying (except under the provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.


National Library of Australia Cataloguing-In-Publication data:

Curtis, Sandy
Murder, Mayhem and Men on Pause

ISBN: 978-1-922904-48-5 (eBook)

Cover Design by © Willsin Rowe
Typesetting by Clan Destine Press




www.clandestinepress.net
Chapter One
‘When is a marriage not a marriage?’ Ellie Cummins tried to stop the words but the wine had been flowing freely and her tongue had loosened in ratio to the glasses consumed. She watched Cass Brighton’s forehead crease in concern and told herself to lighten up. This was her birthday, for heaven’s sake, not a pity party. She should be grateful she was sharing it with her best friend in a great restaurant and not sitting at home alone.
‘Is this a joke, Ellie?’
‘When it’s my marriage,’ Ellie tried to laugh but it came out a sob and she gulped the rest of her red wine, ‘then, yes, it is a joke.’
‘Ellie, don't you think you've had enough?’ Cass gently moved the bottle to the other side of the table, just out of Ellie’s reach.
‘That's just the point, Cass. I never get enough. Just because your randy husband spends half the night chasing you around the bed, don't think the rest of us are as lucky.’
Damn, there was the pity party trying to break out again. Ellie mentally smacked herself. ‘You know my parents were divorced?’ she asked and watched Cass blink at the sudden change of topic, but nod anyway.
‘They separated first. Then my father used to come around some nights so we could play happy families and they could talk and try to sort out their problems. Well, that was the theory. But the selfish bastard only wanted to have sex and my mother never realised she was being used. And he always came around on Wednesday nights.’
Cass hesitated, her plump cheeks quivering as though unsure if they should move, but then asked, ‘Always? On a Wednesday night? Why?’
‘Rissoles!’
‘Rissoles?’
‘Every Wednesday night. Without fail. My mother made them from some old family recipe, and my father loved them. So he would come around every Wednesday night.’
Cass’s expression said that if this was a joke then she was waiting for the punch line.
‘So Saturday morning is like rissoles!’ Ellie announced triumphantly.
Now Cass raised an eyebrow.
‘Sex,’ Ellie sighed, and shook her head to try to clear the fuzziness in her brain. ‘Saturday mornings. It's a ritual. Like rissoles on a Wednesday night. Damien wakes up with a hard on, rolls over, fiddles with my boobs for a few seconds, then tries it on. If I knock him back he's grumpy for a week, so I let him go, then he's happy until the next Saturday. He doesn't care if I get off or not, selfish prick. If I take the initiative he tells me he’s too tired.’ She tried to ignore the pain that spiked through her, but it tumbled out in almost-whispered words. ‘And it’s been too many months now since he’s even bothered about Saturday mornings.’
She pulled at some hair escaping her chignon and watched the blonde strands flutter in the faint draught from the air-conditioning. ‘All he thinks about is business. Thinks the sun shines out of Melba's mouth.’
Cass didn’t hesitate this time. ‘Melba's mouth?’
‘On the hundred dollar note!’ Ellie smiled. ‘Cass, no wonder I like you - you're so innocent. Pollyanna and pecan pie. I bet you even wear a nightie to bed.’ Ellie laughed as though it was the funniest joke she’d ever heard, but she heard the desperation in the sound and forced herself to stop.
‘Do you?’ She queried when she’d calmed down. ‘Wear a nightie to bed, I mean?’
‘Not normally. I used to wear pyjamas years ago, before I met Joe. But he slept in the raw and …’ Cass smiled, then patted her almost non-existent waistline, ‘now I can’t stand the tight elastic.’
‘I could wear a g-string, fishnet stockings and high heels to bed and Damien wouldn’t notice. Maybe if I wore the business section of the Courier-Mail he’d get an erection.’
When Cass laughed, Ellie realised how serious she had sounded. Well, she was serious. And frustrated. Not just sexually, but in every aspect of her life. The frustration had been brewing and bubbling inside her for quite a while and she was desperately afraid that if she didn’t find a solution to it soon it would erupt into something she wouldn’t be able to control.
‘Have you talked to Damien about how you feel?’ Cass asked.
‘I’ve tried to. But it doesn’t work. He doesn’t seem to think there’s anything wrong with our relationship. Says he can’t understand what I’m grumbling about, he works hard to provide a good home so I should be grateful. Then I feel like a bitch for complaining but frustrated that I can’t make him see a marriage is more than a fancy home and a full wine fridge.’
‘Have you thought about getting a job?’
Ellie laughed. ‘Doing what? After we lost Paul, Damien would go ballistic if I even mentioned the idea.’
‘He didn’t blame –’
‘No. SIDS can happen at home just as easily as at a crèche, but when I had Pru we were both pretty paranoid. I gave up work and we installed every device possible to make sure it didn’t happen to her too. Then Miranda came along and by the time she went to school I was involved in the P&C committee and tuckshop and sports coaching and,’ she sighed, ‘every other school activity you could think of. By the time the girls went to uni and Damien had gone into his own business I’d morphed into the corporate wife ,’ she scribed inverted commas in the air and sighed at the description she found so unlike what she really felt. A corporate wife would have understood her husband forgetting her birthday. A corporate wife would have understood that even when she reminded her husband and he said he was too busy to take her out or even have a meal with her that that was okay. That’s what corporate wives did, didn’t they? But she’d never really been a corporate wife, had she. The role had slid over her and sucked her up before she’d realised what had happened.
‘How is Miranda? You had lunch with her today, didn’t you?’
Ellie nodded. ‘She’s okay. Still job-hunting. Speaking of jobs, do you still like working at the real estate office?’
‘It’s all right,’ Cass shrugged, ‘but lately I’ve felt as though something… something’s missing. It’s a great job, and being part-time means I can still do all the gardening and sewing I like, but,’ she smiled wryly, ‘I’m probably just tired of waiting for those kids of mine to give me more grandkids to spoil.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Time to go. I have an early start in the morning.’
Ellie took deliberate steps and tried to clear her head as they walked from the restaurant. The fuzziness had eased a little, but her stomach was sloshing upwards with each step and she didn’t want to repay Cass’s kindness by throwing up in her car. Although friends since their younger daughters had been in high school together, it was only when Cass’s sister had become ill and died a few years ago that they’d become close. Ellie knew what losing someone you loved felt like, and she’d done her best to help Cass cope with months of helping her sister through intense chemotherapy and finally coming to terms with the inevitable.
Now she watched as Cass concentrated on negotiating the traffic. Most Brisbane drivers seemed to view the speed limit as advisory rather than mandatory, and although not a risk taker by nature, Cass kept with the traffic flow.
By the time they’d reached Ellie’s house in the northern suburbs, the effects of the wine had lessened and Ellie had slipped into a pensive silence. Cass parked in the driveway, leaned over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘Ellie, any time you need to talk, just give me a call. Doesn’t matter what time it is or where I am.’
Ellie blinked away the tears that threatened and nodded. She gripped Cass’s hand in gratitude, and got out of the car. ‘Thanks for tonight,’ she said, ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘That’s what friends are for,’ Cass smiled, waited for Ellie to close the door, and backed out of the driveway.
Ellie watched the car drive away, then turned and, like a reluctant Roman at the Colosseum, walked slowly to her front door.
It wasn’t a hangover, Ellie decided next morning as she dragged herself from her bed to the ensuite. More like depression. There didn’t seem to be much to get out of bed for, lately. The house was always immaculate because Damien was rarely home during the day. Her normal housework routine left nothing to do after 10am, except read, go shopping or spend more time at the two charities where she volunteered. She sometimes wondered why she couldn’t get more enthused about working on the fundraising committees for those charities. She really believed in what they did, and she liked the people she worked with, but lately she went home wondering if she should be doing something else with her life as well.
An hour later the built-in vacuum system hummed quietly as she dusted the marble, steel, glass and leather that constituted the modern decor Damien insisted on and she tolerated.
‘No soul,’ she grumbled as she polished and primped. She didn’t hate the look, but her heart longed for the rustic elegance of white wood furniture, delicate florals and vintage fabrics. Sometimes she felt like an impostor, an old-fashioned country girl in the guise of a well-heeled corporate wife, continually worried that one day someone wo