Escape to Danger

By Percy Rose, Rosa Christian, Rosie O'Grady and Zoe Carriere

Introducing a fun new murder mystery series, Beaufort's Landing, starring Xelma, an initially unwilling psychic sleuth, who finds herself embroiled in murders, often involving the attractive D.I. Ryan Croft. He is definitely not on board with all her 'hocus-pocus', but man, that Xelma is something out of the box.

  Book 1 Escape to Danger. Xelma, who is hiding out under the Witness Protection Program, on the strict proviso that she tell none of her previous contacts where she is. She is sure she can trust Charlie, her twin sister.  She has opted to live in a couple of old railway carriages, long ago converted to living quarters, which she inherited from her fortune-telling Grandma Sally. Situated in Queensland's tropics, Balgal Beach is in the Rollingstone District just north of Townsville.

     She surprises herself by impulsively rescuing an abused donkey instead of the puppy companion she had planned on. Donkey does not like men, and is not afraid to show it. She, also thinks and acts like a Great Dane, creating much-needed diversions for Xelma.

    In her turn, Xelma is adopted by her very nosey neighbour, Roland, a small, elderly Irishman, who stepped back from main-stream living some years ago.

     Now, her much-loved sister has been murdered in Townsville, and the smarmy D.I. Croft tells her, she is the number one suspect. With a lot of money at stake, there are any number of other suspects, including Charlie's erstwhile fiancé, her estranged son and his mother, her house-mate and his fiancee, all of whom suspect each other.

     To complicate matters, her sister is not yet ready to move on, and keeps turning up in Xelma's dreams, and then in person, er, spirit. If Charlie is trying to help, she is failing.

     After being repeatedly ignored and scoffed at, Xelma sets out to solve the murder on her own. Unfortunately, she gets too close, and is attacked. Despite her expertise at Krav Maga, the Israeli art of self-defence, she is in grave danger — enter the ever protective Donkey, the heroine of the day.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Celebration Publishing
• Release date: Jun 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9780975787472

Book preview

1

Instead of getting on with the washing up, Xelma’s hands lay still in the warm, sudsy dish water. She stood staring out of the window at the ocean and sky; thinking of nothing in particular, unless enjoying her freedom and safety counted as thinking.

It was strange that hiding out in tropical North Queensland, in the two rail carriages that had belonged to her grandparents, could be considered freedom. Al Gottoni, her crime-boss ex-husband, had a lot to answer for. Still, it could be worse. This place was full of the presence of her maternal Grandmother, Sally Beaufort.

Xelma had loved coming to visit her grandparents when she was a child. A true escape from suburban Brisbane; every Christmas holiday for six weeks she and her brother ran wild in the bush and on the beach.

Thank God, Xelma had inherited the property. Thank God, she had never told Al about it.

Xelma shook her head refocussing, and studied her reflection in the window. She touched the windowpane with a sudsy finger. She looked like her grandmother.

The last time she saw Grandma Sally she was laying in a box, dressed in her Sunday-best outfit, a neatly fitting dress of florals in her favourite shades of pink and soft purples on the darkest blue background. Xelma was ten.

Grandma didn’t look like herself at all. There were roses woven into her grandmother’s luxuriously thick, dark-brunette hair; flowers from her garden; stasis, bleeding heart, and ginger lay in her pale hands and all around her too -still body. Grandma was justly proud of the flower garden framing her humble rail-carriage home. What a magician she’d been, to grow roses in such an unlikely setting. In the coffin, her lovely face was bloodless and slack-skinned instead of rosily animated and kindly.

Young Xelma’s mind had filled with the white noise of confusion and anger; why had her Grandmother died? What did that even mean? Where had Grandma Sally gone? That empty shell could not be her. Why had Grandpa become so cold and distant?

It was weird that she should find herself back here now. She smiled and thought, thank you Grandpa Beaufort, you ill-tempered curmudgeon. Xelma’s mind again filled with the white noise of conflicting emotions.

The hairs on the nape of Xelma’s neck stood to attention. Someone was in her house. She felt their presence. Oh no. She spun around searching the interior of her little home.

In the far corner, leaning on the windowsill with her arms akimbo stood Grandma Sally.

‘Grandma?’

‘Well you might look startled, my girl. Why aren’t you listening to your sister?’

‘What, what do you mean?’ Xelma gulped. This was the first time in years Grandma had appeared. Xelma had deliberately left all of her childhood gullibility behind her a long time ago. But, here was Grandma Sally, and while Xelma was wide-awake; usually she came in a dream or sometimes as a voice somewhere in her head.

Perhaps I really am mad, she thought.

‘She’s been calling you and you’ve been too busy to bother.’

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Xelma grabbed her turban twist, and deftly wrapped her bald head. She searched the shadows to make sure Grandma had gone, before answering the door.

What the hell? Who is that? She hoped to god it wasn’t Roland O’Shay — nosey parker. She bit her lower lip. She knew she wasn’t being fair. He was a nice old bloke, who was a bit lonely. It was Sunday. Her nearest neighbour would be wanting a cuppa and a chat. She opened the door a crack.

She didn’t recognise the man on the stairs. He was fiftyish, had a short back and sides that had become a little overgrown. His dark curls had grey highlights.

‘Yes?’

‘Vanessa Mitchell?’

‘What?’ Xelma yelped in surprise. ‘Who wants to know?’

‘Detective Inspector Ryan Croft.’ The middle-aged giant stood on the second of three steps to her railway carriage home, presenting his badge for inspection. Xelma looked over his head and saw a police car parked in the shade of a tall, weeping tea tree on the far side of the driveway. In the car ’s driver’s seat, another policeman sat sideways with the door wide open. He rested his head on his hands with his elbows on his knees.

‘You are Vanessa Mitchell?’

‘Used to be. Now I’m Xelma.’

‘Selma who?’

‘Xelma!’

‘Yes, but Selma who?’

‘Not Selma—Xelma.’

‘Xelma?’

The policeman cocked his eyebrow in wry disbelief, took a deep breath and asked again, with a heavy emphasis on the pronunciation of her name, ‘Xelma who?’

‘Just Xelma. I changed my name by deed poll six months ago.’

‘Well, Xelma.’ His tone mocked the name, but he continued in a more kindly voice. ‘Vanessa Mitchell, I think you had better let me in. I need to tell you something, and you’ll probably want to be sitting down.’ Xelma frowned, as an emptiness opened up in the pit of her stomach.

‘What is it?’ she croaked opening the door wider. ‘Tell me.’ Her head was filled with a buzz that made the man’s words sound far away. She watched his mouth move as he delivered his news.

‘It is my duty to tell you that Charlise Brand’s body was found this morning.’ Xelma felt the colour drain from her face. A vision of a body wrapped in a paisley quilt washing back and forth in netting swam across her mind. ‘Her body, wrapped in a blanket…’

‘Quilt.’

‘What?’ Croft frowned. No one but the police and the perp knew that.

‘It was wrapped in a paisley quilt.’

‘Whatever.’ He squinted at her between furrowed brows making no attempt to hide his suspicion. ‘Ms. Brand’s body was found tangled in the swimmer’s safety net on The Strand near Longboards Restaurant.’

Xelma’s mind ceased to listen. Charlie? Murdered? No! It wasn’t possible. She would have known. Xelma cast her min into the ether searching for the connection with her sister. Charlie? Charlie. Nothing echoed back.

‘We believe you were the last person to see Ms. Charlise Brand alive. Mrs. Vanessa Mitchell please step outside and accompany me to Townsville Central Police Station for questioning.’ The detective paused for a moment. Xelma didn’t move or respond. ‘Mrs. Mitchell?’

‘What?’ Xelma shook herself from her shock-induced torpor. ‘No! No, I will not. Charlie is not dead, can’t be dead.’ Her voice cracked as she jerked the words out. ‘I saw her only three days ago. She was fine. Happy. Planning her wedding.’ Xelma closed her eyes. Grandma’s message.

‘Oh god. No! Nooooooo… ‘ Xelma dropped to a squatting position while still holding onto the door and wall jamb. Nausea swamped her and she retched into the grass beside the stairs. ‘Charlie,’ she wailed. ‘I’m so sorry. Please, no. Cjar;ei, I’m sorry.’

Heeehawwww…eeeehaaaaaw!

Donkey answered the distressed cries of her mistress, galloping around the end of the old train carriage that served as home to the human who had rescued her. Donkey bared her teeth as she brayed. Her hooves sent the loose gravel of the driveway flying. She leapt at the man on the stairs, knocking him sideways into the new garden. Donkey’s chest slammed into the middle step knocking the wind from her lungs with a loud grunt.

‘Donkey!’ yelled Xelma.

‘What the hell?’ yelled the detective as he fell.

‘Boss,’ yelled the junior detective scrambling from the police car.

‘Donkey!’ yelled Xelma again. She jumped down the stairs to embrace the irate animal. ‘Donkey, It’s all right old girl. He’s not hurting me.’ Adding on a sob, ‘Not physically, anyway.’ She examined Donkey’s chest for cuts and felt for possible broken bones. ‘Are you hurt you poor thing?’

Ryan Croft lay flat on his back on a bed of fresh mulch.

‘Get that wild beast under control or I’ll have to put it down,’ he threatened as he stood up and dusted himself off.

‘You’ll have to kill me first. How dare you threaten my pet for rescuing me?’

‘I was not threatening your life, I was merely…’

‘Using the death of Charlise to bludgeon me into submission.’ Xelma held her tears in check with an effort and turned aside to pet the donkey’s red dun coat, running her hand along the animal’s strong, straight neck.

Croft opened his mouth to deny her charge, but was honest enough to realise, she was basically correct. He turned his ire on his junior. ‘Shut up Greene. This isn’t bloody funny. The beast could have killed me. And, thanks for your help,’ he said. ‘Shut up and make sure you’re taking accurate notes.’

Ted Greene nodded. Clamping his lips over his laughter, he took a small pad and pen from his shirtfront pocket.

Ryan Croft stepped around the stairs keeping a weathered eye on the animal. ‘Tie the creature up and come with me, if you please.’ He rarely met any resistance. His size and obvious strength was usually enough to command obedience.

Detective Croft narrowed his eyes. Is this eccentric looking woman, with her strange headgear, sarong, huge gold hoop earrings, beads and baubles, going to resist arrest? She’s big enough to put up quite a tussle, and has the donkey as an ally.

The idea of violence on a woman made him pause. She looked to be in her forties and under the loose, brightly coloured sarong wrapped across the top of her chest and tied around the back of her neck, appeared to be very fit. He didn’t want to have to injure her, but would if he had to.

‘I am arresting you for the Murder of Charlise Brand. You have the right…’

‘You are making a big mistake,’ Xelma said through gritted teeth as she stomped back up the stairs. At the top she turned and clapped her hands. ’Off you go Donkey. I’ll be fine.’ Obediently, Donkey turned her back to the police. She lifted the stump that was once her tail and with an explosive fart dropped a load of steaming manure at their feet.

Jumping back just in time to avoid being covered in smelly disapproval Ryan shouted, ‘Oh, that’s just great.’ He collided with Ted Greene, who went sprawling backwards onto the gravel. Jaysus, Ryan thought. She must think we’re the bloody Keystone Cops.

The donkey trotted off around the back of the building with a loud, laughing bray.

Despite everything, Xelma’s mouth twitched with suppressed laughter. She opened the door a little wider and said, ‘You had better come in both of you, so I can see to your wounds. You never know what’s in the soil around here.’

‘That won’t be necessary. Please step out of the…er, dwelling.’ He pulled himself up to his full imposing height. ‘Come quietly or I will have to cuff you.’

The woman in front of him was not in the least daunted. He could feel her anger coming at him in waves. Vanessa Mitchell was almost as tall as him and of a strong Nordic build. The turban she wore, along with her sarong and multitude of beads and bangles caused Ryan to grunt in sardonic humour. A middle-aged dippy hippy wannabe.

Xelma leaned in close to his face and hissed, ‘I will not come with you. I’m here under the Witness Protection Program, you idiot. Did you even bother to check for a criminal history?’

‘What?’ It was Croft’s turn to be surprised. ‘I, no, I didn’t. Not yet. I…’ He spun back and grabbing Greene by the elbow whispered, ‘Greene get in touch with comms and ask them to do a check on Vanessa Mitchell’s history.’

‘Shouldn’t we have done that before…’

‘Just do it!’

They sat in the car together listening to Comms.

‘Oh no,’ said Ryan. He put his head in his hands. Shit. The Xelma woman was not just Vanessa Mitchell, but also Vanessa Gottoni and under the WPP to hide from the notorious Brisbane Crime Boss Al Gottoni; not only that, she was Vanessa Brand the victim’s twin sister. What a cock up. Why couldn’t people stick with just the one name? If he had heard the name Gottoni he would have double-checked. At least, he was pretty sure he would have.

---

Ten minutes later a much-subdued Croft and his sidekick once more knocked on the firmly closed yellow door of Xelma’s converted railway carriage, which was painted a deep, moody purple.

‘Just keep yer mouth shut and take careful notes, okay?’ Croft said out the corner of his mouth just as the bright door opened.

‘Satisfied?’ Xelma, who had obviously been crying, asked. ‘I hope they told you I won’t be accompanying you downtown. Now, come in and let me clean those scrapes and scratches. The longer you leave it, the more likely to get infected it will be, and it’s nearly an hour back to town. Come on.’

Ryan’s bulk made the carriage’s interior seem even smaller than it was. Poor Greene was squashed into the far corner behind a bench table, on which Xelma laid out a bowl of hot water and antiseptic, some bandaids and ointment. The carriage was definitely meant to accommodate only one or two people, with three crammed in, it was positively claustrophobic.

‘When? When was she…when did Charlie die?’ Xelma asked as she busied herself cleaning Croft’s cuts and scratches. She held his hand over the basin and poured full strength iodine directly on the large deep scratch on his thumb pad.

‘Aarrgh!’ Ryan whipped his hand away. Xelma grabbed it back and plunged it into the warm water.

‘Gotta be sure to kill the little beggers,’ she said with grim humour. As she continued her ministrations she asked, ‘Are, are you sure it’s Charlie?’

‘Adrian Dexter, her fiancé, identified the body. The pathologist estimates around 10 am last Friday.’ Inspector Croft studied her reactions carefully. ‘Mr Dexter said you turned up a month and a half ago, claiming to be Charlise Brand’s friend. He also said that you and Charlise were acting strangely, had had words and he had a feeling that you were keeping a secret from him. He told us where to find you.’ Croft decided not to delve into why Adrian Dexter knew her whereabouts. It was supposed to be a secret, since she was under the WPP.

He felt his surety that he had the right suspect less and less likely. She was obviously completely overset by the news of Charlise Brand’s death. But, why had she been sneaking around the woman’s unit? The victim’s neighbour in the next apartment said she heard raised voices on more than one occasion when the strange woman was visiting. What were they fighting about? He had thought it a lucky break that the neighbour said Charlise Brand had told her that the woman was an old friend fallen on hard times who needed funds urgently.

Xelma quickly finished cleaning the wounds.

‘Right, you should both live, but make sure you go to a doctor and get some antibiotics, okay?’ She packed away the stuff and threw the dirty water on the garden. ‘Do you want some tea?’ she asked putting a whistling kettle on the gas range-top. ‘I sure as hell need some.I’ll bring it out to the breezeway.’

She and Croft eyed each other across the table under the shade cloth covering the space between the two railway carriages. Each sipped their tea. Greene sat patiently with pen in hand.

‘How?’ Xelma swallowed hard. ‘How was it done? Why was she killed?’

Ryan didn’t want to go into details. Xelma was already pale and shaky. ‘Ah, she was stabbed. Probably a burglary gone wrong.’

‘So, you thought I was a thief?’

‘Well, look at it from my point of view; a strange woman is seen lurking, has a verbal with the victim. The victim tells the neighbour the woman wanted money…it all kinda added up, and I didn’t know you were her sister or any of your story.’ Ryan finished. His excuse sounded lame and tenuous, even to his ear. He knew he had wanted to solve the case as fast as possible and had moved too quickly.

Xelma sighed and nodded. Her behaviour must have seemed odd to on-lookers, but to burst in here and accuse her of murdering her sister was beyond the pale. ‘So Detective, just in case my peculiar circumstances aren’t enough to convince you I never killed Charlie, if you’re right and my sister died a little over forty-eight hours ago I can assure you it was not me who…’ she sipped her now tepid tea. ‘Friday was a Public Holiday, and I was busy reading palms at