Shadow Over Edmund Street Suzanne Frankham (great book club books txt) đ
- Author: Suzanne Frankham
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Marion glared at Jerry. âAnd yes, Jerry, one of her school friends had grown up there, so she knew the property.â
âInbreeding in the inner city. But carry on, I wouldnât want to interrupt.â
âSo,â Marion continued, âthis woman ⊠Rose ⊠helped or encouraged her to sell, and buy the cottage. Edwina made a lot of money. Her old place was a double block on the corner, fronting onto the main road. It was bought by a company that is converting it into offices. And no,â Marion looked at Jerry, âI donât think this Rose ended up with the money. According to Mrs OâBrien, the extra money was invested with another St Josephâs person who has a law firm in the shopping centre. According to the old bird, heâs sharp. Wouldnât let a schemer like Rose get away with anything.â
Everyone turned towards Jerry. âI love it.â He thumped the table. âIncestuous. I love it.â
âThen more shocks for poor old Mrs OâBrien. Edwina decided to learn to drive, bought a car and as far as Mrs OâBrien is concerned, that led to the job, which led to her death. And as sure as night follows day itâs this woman Roseâs fault. If Edwina had never met Rose sheâd still be alive.â
âLoses weight, gets a new hair style, I bet she went out and splurged on nice clothes. Did you check?â said Jerry. âAs far as I know those are all big arrows pointing in one direction. Straight to high heel shoes, makeup and men. Donât you think?â he added, his voice dripping sugar.
DAY 2
Rose had a love-hate relationship with Mondays. After a long, lonely weekend she was ready to kickstart the week and Monday morning was her favourite time. One hour of pure escapism at a dance aerobics class. A group of women dancing to salsa beats, hip hop rappers, rock and rollâanything with a steady beat and a bit of rhythm. It left her smiling and happy.
It was the afternoon she approached with caution. âIntroduction to Zoologyâ labs. Full of first year students finding their way. Rose hadnât thought about a job when she found herself back in Auckland. There had been a house to buy, schools to sort out, an endless list of things to be done. But one afternoon sheâd run into an old university friend, Tim Barrett. A professor now. The last time sheâd seen him, heâd been in black jeans, black shirt, a black leather jacket and rode a motorbike. Now he wore checked shirts, had greying hair and a ginger-white beard. But it was still Tim. Kind and helpful.
âWhy donât you come and work for me?â he asked when he heard about her Masterâs degree finally completed, her thesis handed in. âItâs not much of a job. Coordinating the first-year labs. Itâs meant to be done by PhD students, but it hasnât worked well. We need continuity in the position. You could do it with your eyes closed.â
Rose had been surprised, caught unaware, laughed and said, âWhy not?â She couldnât think of a single sensible reason not to take the job. Different from saying yes, but Tim hadnât noticed. She hadnât told him how scared she was to take her first tiny step back into the work force. He remembered her as the smart one, the one who always topped the exams. But that had been a long time ago, before her children, before constantly moving around the world, when her brain was sharp and true. Before it had been mutilated by death and worry and misery. Now she spent twice as much time in the labs as she should, and always ran through the dissections beforehand to make sure there were no surprises. Confidence, thatâs what she was trying to find. And to make matters worse, on this particular Monday morning there was a planning meeting scheduled for nine-thirty. She would have to miss her gym class. No dancing to the heavy beat of drums to start her day.
* Alex woke with his mind spinning. Find Rose ⊠find Rose ⊠find Rose ⊠had thumped through his head most of the night. It was always like this at the start of an investigationâinterrupted sleep, his brain working overtime in the wee small hours of the morning weaving information together, crafting pictures, making up stories. In this case, the need to find Rose was paramount. Rose was the key to Edwinaâs new life.
It was arranged. Marion would be waiting at the Harcourt Street gym with two uniforms to interview the 9.30 am dance aerobics class. Meanwhile, Alex was off to church to meet the priest. If Edwina spent most of her spare time at St Josephâs, then someone there must know something. When it came to religion, Alex was the expert.
Alexâs name and his height came from his tall, lean Scottish ancestors. According to his ex-wifeâin her angry momentsâthey were also to blame for his stubbornness, inflexibility, coldness and a host of other negative traits. In her more loving momentsâthe ones sheâd casually tossed asideâshe made a lot of his strong regular features, perfect teeth, self-reliance and his steadiness in life. In the end, whatever she'd liked about him hadnât been enough.
All Alexâs mother had contributed, in the way of looks anyway, were his dark eyes and thick straight black hair. But her spiritual imprint had been strong. Thereâd been service every Sunday, bible class studies and religious instruction camps. He remained uncomfortable remembering the clumsy way heâd announced, with the certainty of a sixteen-year-old, that he no longer believed in God. His motherâs hysteria. Pain. Thereâd been months, even years, of stormy religious arguments and
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