Deadly Start Clark Nefri (new reading .TXT) 📖

were sealed boxes. Across them, in black pen, were words such as ‘saucepans’, ‘glassware’, ‘shoes’, ‘hats’, and ‘books’. Books?

Charlotte didn’t bother searching for windchimes.

As she made for the door, Veronica suddenly looked up. “Nothing? I’ve been waiting and nothing?”

“Nothing. I’ve been looking and…well, I remembered a friend of mine can make a windchime to order. But thanks.”

Hands on hips, the fury on the other woman’s face was scary. Well, it would be for a teenager, so no wonder the poor girl had run. Surely there’d be better jobs around town?

Outside, Charlotte breathed deeply of the slightly cooler air. There were a few drops of rain and she was ready to go home via a supermarket. And she was going to ask Darcy if he’d make her a wind chime from his own timber once he had time. Something made with love and sold by an ethical person.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Shopping was easier this time and Charlotte arrived home with two bags of fresh produce and other necessities. She opened the laptop as dinner cooked and reread the email from Lakeview Care.

If her mother was suffering as much as Maggie implied, why had they not brought in another specialist and got another opinion? New medication wasn’t always the answer. Angelica Dean was a tough lady, despite her many mental health issues. Charlotte had always believed quality counselling, coupled with the right combination of medication, was key to giving her mother the most comfortable life.

As Angelica’s carer for a while, she’d had success with this approach. For one wonderful year, she’d had her mother. And Angelica was amazing. Smart, funny in ways Charlotte never expected, and at times, deep compassion and regret for the life she’d forced on her child.

No childhood. No teenage years. Just seven years old to adult in one moment when Dad left for the last time.

Thanks Mum. Thanks Dad.

Charlotte closed her eyes and regulated her breathing, forcing out the negative until she could stop her hands shaking. Being reactive wasn’t a long-term strategy and she needed to be the grown-up in all of this.

After checking dinner wasn’t burning, she dialled Queensland.

“Lakeview Care, Maggie speaking.”

“Maggie, this is Charlotte Dean. I’m sorry to take a couple of days to call.”

“Dr Dean, thank you. I thought perhaps I had the wrong details for you. Did you receive the parcel we sent?”

“Oh. Yes, the box. I’m not certain what to do with Mum’s things. But if you’re sure she doesn’t want them?” Charlotte glanced in the direction of the bedroom where she’d left the box behind a closed door. “I haven’t gone through it yet.”

“Angelica really hadn’t touched anything in months.” Maggie said. “She’s retreating into herself. Doesn’t want to be involved with any of the activities she used to enjoy. Nor be part of any outings.”

“Is she doing regular counselling sessions?”

“No. Part of the problem began when there were some staff changes. Angelica hasn’t taken to the new psychiatrist and we can’t really force her to see him.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Find a female. There are sufficient funds to cover private consultations.” Irritation swept through her. “You must remember we went through something similar a few years ago with a male therapist. Shall I find someone?”

Maggie’s voice was hesitant. “No. No, I’m happy to do so, but…well, I think it is more this time.”

“Let’s take one step at a time. If you can arrange a consult with a suitably qualified female psychiatrist and see if she has ideas about Mum’s status. And how long since she’s had a full physical?”

“She’s due.” Maggie sounded more positive. “I’ll arrange both and let you know once I have some news.”

A few minutes later, Charlotte hung up. Lakeview Care was a caring, professional place but sometimes they overlooked simple factors. Mum never liked having men around, not since Dad left.

This was a good step. Charlotte was far from ready to visit, but this communication helped more than she’d expected. One step at a time. For her as well as her mother.

Charlotte ate dinner out on the balcony by candlelight. She had plans for the area now she was using it so often. New paint for a start. The balcony was simply an extension of the apartment, with one side a full brick wall, two sides open apart from the railings, and the glass sliding doors and window to back inside. The brick was painted grey, peeling and uninviting.

The floor was just as bad. Unsealed concrete had seen much better days. And even the railings were overdue for new paint and some brightening up. Charlotte finished the last of her pasta bake and pushed the plate aside.

After Christmas, the bookshop was closed until the first week of January. She’d check with Rosie first, but assuming she didn’t mind some improvements, Charlotte might spend some of the time refreshing the balcony. And then she could buy some planters and grow herbs and flowers along the rails where the sun shone most of the day. The windchime would hang in the corner. And her little tree would be fine in its pot until the end of summer.

Behind the shop was a small backyard. Charlotte had only been out there a couple times and not long enough to see what was there apart from a clothesline. She had a little bit of exploring to do once Christmas was past.

Out on the street, a slow-moving heavy vehicle passed the bookshop. A flatbed truck, much bigger than Darcy’s, and with a small crane at the back. Trussed and tied to the truck was a massive pine tree. Charlotte leaned over the railing as the truck pulled up close to the roundabout. A police car had blocked off one exit and Sid was tossing witches hats around the truck.

Darcy’s tree. Probably made sense to put it up at night when the roads were quieter. Charlotte watched for a while as another man helped Darcy untie the tree, then hook it up to the crane. Sid was out of sight although his