“Of course it did,” Charmaine said with a nod. “Surely she could take that to the police.”
“She did, but they couldn’t determine where the letter came from. This was the early eighties. There were no forensic investigators, no surveillance video footage. And no one had witnessed the person who put it in our mailbox. Your father was livid, but there wasn’t much anyone could do.”
“Poor Mum,” Charmaine said with a sigh as she scratched behind Watson’s ears. “Is that when she left?”
“No, that wasn’t until years later after her divorce. We all thought she’d given up on it. I realise now, it was what she wanted us to believe. She must’ve kept working on the mystery in secret because one day after you were born and your father had left, she came home from a long walk very excited. She’d found something, she said. Something that would prove her right. Something important.”
Charmaine leaned forwards. “What was it?”
Finn shook her head. “She never told me. She left soon after that, moved away. She came home a couple of times and brought you kids with her, but then she got spooked and changed her name, moved again and never came back. As I said, she sent me the occasional message, but otherwise, we didn’t hear from her. It was a source of great pain for my parents up until they died. They wanted nothing more than for all of you to come home and be part of the family again. They thought they’d failed in some way. They didn’t understand why she did it.”
“But you understood?”
Finn exhaled a long, deep breath. “I can look back now and see why — she wanted to keep you and your brother safe. After the history she had with the police, them not believing her or protecting her, she didn’t feel as though she could count on them. She always said the Coral Island Police were as useful as a sea sponge.”
Charmaine laughed. “That’s a bit harsh.”
Finn shrugged. “It was her experience.”
“So, you have no idea what she discovered?”
“None, but whatever it was, it meant something to the murderer because we kept getting hang-ups on the phone for years after she left, and every now and then I’d see footprints in the backyard first thing in the morning. Someone broke in once and ransacked the whole house. Mum and Dad thought it was a robbery, but nothing was taken. I always believed it was the murderer looking for whatever it was that Helen found.”
Eighteen
Evie satin theCoral Café, waiting for Beatrice. She missed Penny and Taya. Penny had been gone for two weeks, travelling the world with Rowan. She’d heard from her a few times and so far, the messages had been positive, but Evie wanted desperately to see her friend and ask if she was genuinely okay. Taya was travelling for work, although she expected to be back on the island the following week. So, it was only going to be Bea and Evie catching up for coffee, since Charmaine was busy working atBetsy’s Florals. And the only place left where they could find a coffee was theCoral Café.
The drab establishment was owned by Rowan’s mother, June Clements, and didn’t have an espresso machine, much to Evie’s dismay. She cupped a coffee with both hands and stared into its dark depths. It wasn’t the good stuff, but it would have to do. June set a lamington on the table before her with a small fork balanced on the edge of the plate. The square cake looked festive, with coconut sprinkled over the chocolate icing. “Is that all?”
“Yes, thanks, June. Beatrice should be here soon.”
“I was sorry to see what happened to your bookshop and her café. I liked both businesses.” June didn’t speak often, and certainly not to say something nice.
Evie looked at her in surprise. “Thanks, June. I appreciate it.”
She nodded and then returned to her place behind the counter to wipe down surfaces.
David was walking past the café when he waved at her through the large glass window. He came in through the front door and strode over to her table.
“Hi. I wasn’t expecting to run into you today.”
She patted the seat next to hers. “Do you have time to sit? I’m meeting Bea, but I’m early if you’d like to grab a coffee and share my lamington.”
“I’d love that.” He ordered a coffee and an extra fork, then pulled his chair closer to her. “What’s that?”
“My insurance claim. I’m writing down valuable books, the new bookshelves—anything that might help me get a higher settlement. I’m only now realising just how disorganised I am. It’s irritating.”
“Do you need some help?”
“Yes, please,” she replied.
As she flicked through photographs on her phone and tapped her way through files on her iPad, she talked about the items to include on the list, and the stone of sadness in her gut grew.
“This is painful,” she said.
He sipped his coffee. “I can’t imagine. This was your dream, and it’s gone. You’ve clearly put so much effort into curating an amazing collection of books.”
“And some artwork, too,” she added.
