Charlotte moved closer to the river and found a place to sit beneath a tree. There, she ate her sandwich as clear water rushed by on its descent to the next phase of its life.
A bit like me.
From one place to another. Always Charlie but changing a little each time. She enjoyed the analogy. The river had no concept of its approach to the falls yet flowed with purpose and courage. No deviations or sudden stalls in case something ahead might be scary.
She took some selfies with the river in the background. These would go onto her screensaver as a reminder of the power of nature and the value of its lessons.
Phone in her hand, Charlotte climbed over a few rocks to reach the edge of the cliff. The late afternoon sun still stung, in fact, it was hotter now than earlier in the day. Distant clouds were dark and thick and heading this way. She’d need to leave soon.
But first the scenery demanded her attention. She was just far enough away from the point the water cascaded to get some beautiful images. Then, there was the pool from this vantage point. It was clear to the bottom apart from the base of the falls which churned and clouded the water. Finally, back across the canopy to the lookout.
Someone was there.
She zoomed in.
Two someones. A young dark-haired man and older lady. Glenys.
How curious.
The man carried a bunch of flowers which he handed to Glenys. She nodded to him, then held the flowers out over the rail. It was too far for Charlotte to see details, but when the flowers were released, Glenys covered her face. The man put a hand on her shoulder.
Rosie’s voice crept into Charlotte’s mind. Words about Glenys. “…her poor husband—God rest his poor soul…I hope nobody fell down the steps to the Falls again.”
A chill crept up Charlotte’s spine and she lowered the phone. Had Mr Lane fallen from the lookout? This might be a remembrance ritual for Glenys. She didn’t want to intrude but needed just another quick look at the man she was with.
When she raised the phone and zoomed the camera in, it was straight into his face. He was no more than twenty-five, with a tattoo on his neck of some sort. And he was staring back at her as if he had eagle eyes.
“How?” She backtracked, slipping behind a taller rock. How did he know she was there? Or was this pure coincidence and he was gazing up at the top of the falls, waiting for Glenys to want to leave. It was such a long way she doubted if anyone could identify a person. But the chill remained.
After a moment, she took a careful peek around the rock. They were gone. If they were heading back to the road, she wouldn’t come across them. She’d hate to interrupt what appeared to be a sad event for Glenys. And a part of her hoped she hadn’t been seen.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Even as Charlotte attempted to sweep the pavement outside the shop, customers wanted to go inside. She smiled, followed them in, and let them browse as she put the broom away. There’d be time later.
The heavy clouds from yesterday never made it to Kingfisher Falls but the day was less humid, and Charlotte hoped the nice weather would bring shoppers out in droves. So far, so good.
Rosie arrived as the first customers left, the frown on her face at odds with her cheerful Christmas hat. She wheeled straight around the counter and tapped on the computer.
“Good morning.” Charlotte joined her. “Okay, since when do you have a Facebook account?” Rosie had refused Charlotte’s offer to walk her through the setup the other day, preferring to avoid social media.
“One learns when one must.”
“And why must you be on Facebook?”
The look Rosie gave her was serious. “When a neighbour tells me there are things I need to see on my bookshop’s page. That’s why.”
“Oh.” Charlotte sat.
“Oh, indeed.” Rosie scrolled through the bad reviews, the frown deepening. “Why not tell me?”
“Because they are fake reviews.”
“I don’t understand. This one says we told a customer to leave.”
“Exactly. May I?” Charlotte gently took the mouse. “Right. This one…see the name of the reviewer? It belongs to a made-up account. And I’ve reported it. And this. This. And look, another with almost the same name.”
“Sid Browne. Backwards.”
Charlotte’s mouth opened in surprise.
“I play a lot of word games. I’m going to call him.” She reached for the phone.
“No, no, don’t. Please.”
“Charlie, I am tired of this nonsense! And hurt. Ever since Christmas trees began disappearing, this shop seems to be under attack! Octavia, and Marguerite, even Glenys! And Sid’s had it in for you from day one.” Rosie’s eyes glistened.
“Don’t cry. And please don’t call him. Not yet.”
“Not yet?” Rosie drew in a long breath.
“I’ve also reported his own Facebook page so it is possible all of this will disappear soon. Rosie, I think we need some advice about how to handle Sid Browne, don’t you?”
“A lawyer?”
Charlotte smiled. “Was thinking more of asking another police officer about the processes to make a complaint that will stick.”
“Trevor.”
“Can we shelve this until we see him?”
“I’ll think about it.” Rosie took off her glasses to dab her eyes. “Right. So, what did you get up to yesterday?”
Keeping an eye on the front door for customers, Charlotte gave Rosie an edited version of the previous day’s events. Not wishing to upset her further, she left out her venture as an amateur sleuth following the ute, and where it ended up, as well as her suspicions about Veronica. Although she did ask about the woman’s history of opening and closing shops.
“I’d forgotten about that. At
