The Secrets that Lie Within (Taylor's Bend, #1) Read online

  The Secrets That Lie Within

  Elisabeth Rose

  romance.com.au/escapepublishing/

  The Secrets That Lie Within

  Elisabeth Rose

  A move to a small town might provide her the solace she seeks – until the once peaceful isolation turns deadly.

  After her husband is controversially acquitted of multiple crimes, now-divorced Abbie Forrest escapes to the peaceful rural town of Taylor’s Bend intent on focusing on her career as a landscape artist. Estranged from her sister and daughter, Abbie tries hard to forge new relationships in the small community without revealing her own secrets.

  Town policeman Rupert Perry is attracted to the quiet woman who lives alone on a large block fifteen minutes from town. But Rupe is happy with what he has – part-time hours, a friendly inclusive community, and freedom to grieve for his late wife away from the well-meaning but overwhelming concern of his old friends.

  When a series of peculiar and increasingly frightening events threaten Abbie, she is forced to turn to Rupe for help. But will he be able to prevent the escalation of terror as past wrongs demand revenge?

  About the author

  Multi-published romance writer ELISABETH ROSE lives very happily in Canberra with her musician husband. Travel is a big part of their lives now the family has left home. Elisabeth’s original training was in clarinet performance, but she was also a tai chi instructor for twenty-five years. An avid reader, her preference is for a happy ending regardless of genre and is most annoyed if a main character dies or leaves—unless of course, it’s the villain.

  If you’d like to know more about me, my books, or to connect with me online, you can visit If you’d like to know more about me, my books, or to connect with me online, you can visit my webpage elisabethrose.com.au, or like my Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/Elisabethroseauthor/

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my editor, the wonderful Kate Cuthbert, for her continuing faith in me. My thanks also go to: my husband who patiently lets me bounce ideas off him; author Kylie Griffin who helped with the workings of rural police and emergency services; tennis friend Dave, an amateur artist, who added to my meagre knowledge of canvases and frames; my local chemist who, after being taken aback by my query about how to make someone throw up rather than prevent it, became quite interested and came up with a good method; my next-door neighbour Chris, a fireman, who gave me some very useful information about lighting slow burning fires and overall fire behaviour information; and author AJ Blythe who read the opening chapters.

  As usual, for Colin, Carla, Nick and Paige

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

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  Chapter 1

  Abbie didn’t recognise the dusty, silver car parked on the side of the road a hundred metres from the gate to her house. She slowed and peered at it as she passed by, but couldn’t see anyone among the thick stand of gum trees lining the verge, so she drove on, rattled over the wooden bridge and twenty minutes later, when she reached Taylor’s Bend, it had slipped from her mind, filled as that was by the glorious morning.

  If only she could capture the brilliance with paint. She’d driven slowly, taking every chance to steal glances at the surroundings. The air glowed crisp and clear with a crystalline light illuminating the trees, allowing the late spring sunlight to sparkle through leaves silvery in the brightness. Streeton, McCubbin, Roberts and friends had managed it by camping in the bush and painting what they saw around them every day. That’s what she was doing, sort of. Living in her subject, immersing herself, but in a house rather than a tent.

  She parked outside Laurie’s General Store-cum-post office-cum-newsagent and went in to collect her mail, replenish grocery stocks and catch up on the week’s worth of gossip. Laurie’s dog, Banjo, lay across the doorway in an untidy black sprawl of legs and tail.

  ‘G’day boy.’ She bent to tousle his ears and got a few thumps of the shaggy tail on the wooden verandah in acknowledgement.

  Footsteps sounded behind her. ‘Morning, Abbie.’

  That voice always sent little ripples of pleasure through her and every other woman within earshot. Did he realise just how sexy a deep masculine tone could be? How that, coupled with a slow smile, a full lower lip, a pair of steady brown eyes to go with thick black curly hair which had a mind of its own, all topped off by a uniform, bowled women over like skittles. The general consensus of the Taylor’s Bend female population was no, new cop in town, Senior Constable Rupert Perry, had no idea.

  Abbie straightened. If Rupe even noticed the flush in her cheeks he’d attribute it to bending over patting the dog.

  ‘Hi Rupe. Lovely morning.’

  ‘Sure is. Everything okay out your way? No trouble with Rita?’

  ‘No, she’s been quiet lately, thank goodness.’ She hadn’t given her eccentric, rather paranoid neighbour a thought recently but the dusty silver car flashed in and out of her mind. Did he know something about Rita she didn’t? Parking a car there was a bit odd now she thought about it. ‘Why?’

  ‘No reason to be concerned but there’ve been a few reports of a prowler. Not out your way, though.’

  ‘What sort of prowler?’

  ‘Hard to say. No-one’s actually seen whoever it is. Just sets the dogs off at night and someone heard a car drive away. Like I said, nothing for you to worry about.’

  There came that slow smile and there went her heart into its own little tango of delight. Idiot. Everyone knew Rupe was too reserved to make a move on any of the eligible ladies in town. Some of the younger blokes reckoned he was gay but unless Abbie’s gaydar was completely on the fritz, Rupe was not that way inclined.

  He’d arrived in town six months before she did, which was eight months ago, and had already made a name for himself as a handy spin bowler and reasonable bat on the local cricket team, but he’d opted out of football citing an old knee injury. Abbie had watched him play half the summer season, along with most of Taylor’s Bend. Everyone voted the new cop a good bloke to have around but the women were disappointed they wouldn’t see him in footie shorts over winter.

  ‘Just doing your job, keeping us safe?’ she asked with a smile to show she wasn’t having a go at him. This prowler sounded a bit vague. Rural police hardly had their hands full with the hardened criminal element. His hours were part-time, community liaison being the major part of his job as far as she could gather. Anything major went through to the regional centre in Wagga, according to the locals.

  ‘Not much to do around here,’ he said. ‘Apart from the odd traffic infringement or lapsed licence.’

  ‘Do you find it too quiet?’ Like her, he’d come from Sydney.

  ‘I grew up in country towns. My dad was a rural policeman,’ he said. ‘The quiet life suits me.’

  ‘I love it here too, although I grew up in the city.’ This topic was running out of steam fast, but she’d never had such a long conversation with him and he seemed happy to linger. She cast about for so
mething else to say. He beat her to it.

  ‘Nice and quiet to paint in, I guess,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. And it’s away from … other things. Family, you know?’ He probably didn’t know. He would have grown up in a traditional family in a country town where the community supported and looked out for each other. Suburban city life was something else.

  By the look on his face he was frightened she’d begin unloading her personal problems. She sent him a bright smile. ‘Sorry, I’d better let you get on with … whatever.’

  He smiled. ‘Nothing, in other words.’

  Surprise made her laugh. ‘I wasn’t thinking that, but if you want something to investigate there’s a car parked near the bridge. Between it and my gate. I’ve never seen it before and I didn’t see anyone around. Maybe it’s the prowler.’

  ‘Doubt it, these types prefer the dark.’ A little crease appeared in his forehead. ‘There’s nothing on that road except your place, Rita’s and Benson’s but they’re nowhere near that track of yours. I’ll take a run out there and have a look.’

  ‘Do you need to?’

  ‘Might as well.’

  ‘When you do, drop in and have a cuppa. I’ll be home in about an hour.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks. See you later.’ Again the slow smile which cut through her brain like a laser beam and left her speechless.

  Abbie stepped over Banjo, who’d gone back to sleep, and went inside wondering if she’d have time to bake something before he turned up. She should have offered him lunch. Depending when he arrived, she still could. Nothing wrong with entertaining a handsome bloke and with this one there was no chance he’d misinterpret friendliness as something more. She wasn’t interested in more and apparently neither was he, but it did the hormones good to fizz once in a while. Hers were out of practice and unlikely to be exercised in the near future, or even the distant future, given the consequences last time.

  ‘G’day, Abbie. How’s it going?’ Laurie. A full head of silver hair atop an unlined ruddy-cheeked face wearing its usual smile. Nothing bothered him except, occasionally, his knee, also known as ‘my bloody knee’ after he’d been bending and lifting too much.

  ‘Great, thanks, Laurie. How are you?’

  ‘Can’t complain.’ He went to the post office section for her mail while Abbie picked up a basket and browsed for milk, bread, cheese and biscuits.

  ‘Saw you chatting to young Rupe,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. He mentioned a prowler.’ She took a packet of Gingernut biscuits off the shelf. Young Rupe? Word was he was over forty. Like she was.

  ‘Yeah, I heard about that. Grant over at Bindubi said the dogs went crazy one night last week. And Jess Harrop next door to him said the same thing a few days later.’

  ‘But no-one saw anyone.’

  ‘Nah. Don’t you worry about it. Good-looking fella.’

  ‘Who? I thought no-one saw the prowler.’ She grinned, teasing. He was back on Rupe. Matchmaking.

  He shook his head. ‘Rupe.’

  ‘What do you know about good-looking fellas?’ She wandered over to the freezer. Was ice cream a good idea? Probably not, she’d never get through a tub.

  ‘Nothing. Dot reckons he is and she ought to know. She married me.’

  Abbie laughed. ‘She’s right on all counts.’

  Laurie was nudging eighty-three and Dot was close behind him. Neither showed any signs of giving up the store and if they did, the town wouldn’t be the same. Even though a supermarket operated at the other end of the main street, everyone supported Laurie’s. Hannah, who ran the cafe and was writing a history of the town said, or possibly quoted her manuscript, ‘Laurie and Dot are the glue that holds Taylor’s Bend together. They connect the present with the past and they’re as essential to this place as beer is to the pub.’

  For their sixtieth wedding anniversary last month Abbie had given them a small watercolour she’d done of the store, and it hung over the counter in pride of place.

  ‘No harm in looking,’ she went on. ‘I’m not in the market for a man. I’ve done that.’ It was no secret she was unattached. Why was another matter.

  ‘Some bloke commented on your picture the other day.’ Laurie put a stack of letters held by a thick red rubber band on the counter. ‘He asked who did it and when I told him he said you were famous and it’d be worth a few bob.’ He squinted at her over his reading glasses. ‘You never told us you were a famous artist.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Moderately successful more like it.

  ‘He knew who you were. “An Abigail Forrest,” he said, and he was impressed, you could tell.’

  ‘He might have read an article about me. I was in the Sydney paper once. Years ago now.’ Three. Who would recognise her work from that? Her name? More recent reporting? A tiny worm of unease wriggled deep inside. ‘Did you tell him where I lived?’

  ‘No, love, but he didn’t ask.’ He leaned on the counter. ‘You living out there on your own, you don’t want odd bods turning up, do you?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Thanks, Laurie.’ Was it chance he came through Taylor’s Bend? Louise at the gallery in Sydney wouldn’t give out any personal information.

  ‘What did you do that you were in the paper?’

  ‘Won an art prize. You wouldn’t have heard of it.’ She unloaded the groceries as a not-so-subtle hint. This type of talk had always made her uncomfortable. She didn’t paint to be famous and she only entered that contest because of the generous prize money. Winning was the biggest surprise of her life.

  He ignored the growing pile of groceries and looked up at the watercolour with renewed respect. ‘I always liked it but I like it even more now. What do you reckon it’s worth?’

  ‘I don’t know. Do you want to sell it?’ The disappointment must have seeped through.

  His shock was genuine. ‘Of course not, love. This is going to be a family heirloom and the daughters know that. I thought maybe we should insure it.’

  ‘Oh.’ She smiled. ‘Perhaps around seven hundred. But if you lost it I could paint you another one.’

  ‘Blimey Charlie! Seven hundred dollars for that little thing? I need to sit down.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not worth that much. I’m going by what my last exhibition prices were. But it fluctuates a lot depending on what’s popular at the time. Overseas buyers like the bush scenes and they’re a growing market.’

  ‘Maybe I should take up painting.’ Laurie cackled and began totting up her purchases. No doubt that information would be doing the rounds of the town by lunchtime. Everyone knew she was an artist but now she’d be a world famous, prize-winning artist and the little watercolour would be priceless.

  ‘I’m expecting a delivery of paints soon, Laurie. I thought it might have been here already. Would you mind giving me a call when it arrives and I’ll come in and collect it?’

  ‘No worries, love. Thirty-three dollars ninety-five.’

  Next, Abbie stopped by the library and swapped her books. The choice was limited but her TV reception was basic and her neighbours, the Bensons, said internet was so slow and erratic as to be non-existent so she didn’t bother trying for a connection. She had a landline phone but had to walk up the hill behind the house or drive a couple of kilometres towards town to use her mobile. Her house sat in a communications shadow apparently, which suited her just fine. She’d always loved reading, and the library stocked titles and authors she’d never have thought to pick up otherwise. And she had a good supply of movies. A quick stop at the supermarket to stock up on the meat, fruit and vegetables Laurie didn’t provide and she was on her way.

  The silver car had gone when Abbie drove by. Would Rupe bother coming in? He might think she’d invented it as an excuse to bring him out her way. Would he think that? No, he couldn’t possibly. She didn’t act like a desperate spinster, did she?

  That was the trouble with a country town, everyone knew everything and everyone speculated. Abbie had decided the best plan was to be friendly, j
oin communal activities but only release as much as information as was needed so as not to sound secretive or mysterious. Joining the female population in admiring the new policeman was part of belonging but was no hardship. Having tea with him would score her a few points in the ‘making headway with Rupe’ tally. Who knows? She might glean a little more information from him to add to the pool when the Taylor’s Bend Book Club convened on Thursday evening.

  The silver car was parked in front of her house.

  Frowning, Abbie drove into the shed she used as a garage. She wasn’t expecting visitors. Laden with groceries, handbag and book bag, she headed for the house. The worm of unease returned with a vengeance, morphing into full-blown apprehension. Had this person gone inside? She never locked the door. No-one did out here. Why would a stranger enter her house? Which of the few friends or relatives who knew her address would visit without calling first? None. Who else would turn up? Someone who knew Callum, knew what he’d done …

  A reporter?

  The prowler? Not in broad daylight according to Rupe. Not much comfort.

  Abbie stopped short of the verandah steps. The quiet was unnerving now, emphasising how isolated she was, how alone. She should get a dog. Should have accepted when the Bensons offered her a pup when their dog had three. What if there was more than one person in there?

  ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Who’s there?’ Her voice sound thin and quavery in the vast openness of the yard. A magpie chortled nearby, startling her with the sudden intrusion of sound.

  She put the bags of groceries and books on the bottom step but hung onto her handbag. The car was a few metres away, filthy with dust and mud, doors closed, windows up. She strode across and opened the driver’s door. Nothing. No personal items, not even a discarded takeaway coffee cup. No key in the ignition. The back seat was equally empty. A rental?

  She closed the door quietly and retreated towards the house, her angle of approach allowing her for the first time to see the front door inside the screen. Wide open. She’d left it unlocked but closed. She always did, and she had this time too. For sure.