The Fall That Kills You Read online

  The Fall That Kills You

  A Pine Lake Inn Cozy Mystery Book 7

  K. J. Emrick

  First published in Australia by South Coast Publishing, January 2018. Copyright K.J. Emrick (2012-19)

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and locations portrayed in this book and the names herein are fictitious. Any similarity to or identification with the locations, names, characters or history of any person, product or entity is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

  - From a Declaration of Principles jointly adopted by a Committee of the American Bar Association and a Committee of Publishers and Associations.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  More Info

  Jelly Slice

  Glossary of Australian Slang

  About the Author

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  Chapter 1

  The first time a tourist asked me if Australia celebrated New Year’s, I chalked it up to the general ignorance of people the whole world ‘round.

  This time, I’m pretty sure the person standing at the check-in counter of my Inn is just a few stubbies short of a six-pack.

  That’s Tasmanian speak for ‘not very bright.’

  “I’m only asking,” he says, as if explaining this will make it better, “because I’ve never been to Tasmania before. Or Australia, for that matter. I want to know what to expect.”

  Hopefully, my smile looks genuine. I won’t bother explaining to him that Tasmania actually is part of Australia. I don’t bother telling him that we’re not all backwoods bushies, either. Best to just make the customer happy, as they say in the world of business. I certainly don’t feel like smiling for some well-meaning tourist from the States, but I do anyway as it’s the polite thing to do.

  With a slow breath, I give him the obvious answer. “Yes, we celebrate New Year’s. I think you’ll find it’s pretty much the same way here as it is back in the U.S.A., Mister Anderson. There’s the big family fireworks display up in Hobart, if you’re interested, but we do a smaller one here in Lakeshore, too. I hear the Thirsty Roo Pub’s offering half-priced schooners come midnight on New Year’s Eve. Alfonse Calico’s the owner, and a good friend of mine to boot. Amazing singer, that one. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard Alfonse give a concert, but he’s a right brilliant singer. He’s going to do a few tunes for everyone off his new album.”

  “Oh, yeah? Wow, I can’t believe my luck. I know boy bands have fallen out of style but I still have Alfonse Calico’s original album. From back when he was part of that band of his. You know, Commonwealth? Yup, I’ve got it. On the original CD format. Digital downloads just don’t have the same sound to me, but you know how it is. Everything’s digital format these days.”

  Mark Anderson is a tall and unimpressive looking man. He’s skinny. He’s pale. His hairline has receded nearly to the top of his oval head and a mustache he’s trying to grow doesn’t even come close to making up for it. A mole on his left cheek. That sweater vest he’s wearing over a pale yellow button-up has got to be sweltering, seeing as how it’s the middle of our summer months down here. January and February are the hottest months of our year, though December isn’t far behind and this December seems to be hotter than usual. You might see that as backward but I see it as the right way round, far as I’m concerned. Definitely not the months when you bundle up for warmth. Not too bright, this one, as I’ve already said.

  In spite of that, he seems like a friendly enough guy. Just likes to prattle on a bit.

  “Well,” I say to him. “If there’s anything I can help you with don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Oh, sure, sure. My brother said we should go to Sydney for New Year’s but I read online that there’s just too many people there to enjoy it. So, I figured I’d go as far away from there as I could and I thought what better place than Tasmania, right? Then I read about this place online. You’re famous. Did you know that?”

  I manage to put a muzzle on my frown, if just barely. I’m very aware of how famous me and the Pine Lake Inn are. If you ask me, there’s been way too much publicity for me and this place, and the whole town of Lakeshore for that matter, what with all the death and general shenanigans here. Last winter it was the theft of a rare cultural artifact from the Thirsty Roo itself that landed us in all the papers and the online news sites, and me always at the center of it all.

  ‘Course, that’s what comes of having a reporter for a boyfriend.

  I know what you’re thinking. I’m far too old to have a man in my life and refer to him as a boyfriend. Well, me and James are only just back together for not even a year yet, so I suppose I’m a little skittish on the subject. Superstitious, even. After all, I’m older than I look. Quite the catch, if you ask me. I’m just five foot seven or so, with the body of a woman half my age. I keep my auburn hair long but I just added bangs and they take off five years. At least, that’s what the hairdresser tells me. Not exactly Claudia Karvan, although I’ve been compared to her. I’ll take that compliment.

  In a crisp white blouse and a pair of creased slacks, I’m quite the catch. Any man would be lucky to have me, and James is luckier than most.

  Now. That’s enough about me. I’m here for the guests, after all. “Well, Mister Anderson, we’ll just need your driver’s license to complete the reservation.”

  “Of course. Sure.” He pulls out his wallet and thumbs through it. “Except I don’t think I brought it. Yeah. Forgot that one at home.”

  With a supreme effort, I do not roll my eyes. Tourists.

  “Can I just give you my date of birth?” he asks me. “That’s all they needed at the car rental place. Well. That, and a ton of money to rent a car.”

  “Sure, we can work with that. Go ahead.”

  “It’s September the thirteenth… uh, no. Sorry. Twenty-third. September the twenty-third, 1989. With that and the credit card it should be enough, right?”

  Keep a smile on your face, I tell myself. Public service means being nice
to all sorts. Those that are from here, and those that aren’t. “All right then, Mister Anderson. I’ve got you all set up in room number three. It’s up on the first floor, just off the top of the stairs.”

  His eyebrows scrunch up, and he looks over at the stairs. “You mean the second floor, right? Up the stairs?”

  Smile. Just smile. “On this side of the world, we call this the ground floor. Up the stairs is the first floor, and up the stairs again is the second floor.”

  Just as it should be.

  “Oh,” he says, looking up the stairs again. “Uh, I guess I understand. Sure.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at his confusion. I suppose I’d feel the same way, if I went on a trip to the States. He puts on a goofy grin of his own as I hand him the key to his room. It’s a real key like they used to use, with a long shaft and oversized teeth. It’s a bit of nostalgia I use here at the Pine Lake Inn. I find it’s the little touches that people remember.

  Taking it from my hand, he bounces it on his palm with a wide smile. “Thanks. You’re Adelle, right?”

  “It’s Dell,” I tell him. “Dell Powers to everyone, except the Australian Taxation Office.”

  His brain processes that for a moment before he laughs and shoulders his duffle bag, and takes hold of the extended handle of a suitcase. At first I thought the man was travelling light, considering he’d flown halfway around the world to visit Tasmania, but then I see how heavy the suitcase is for him to move. He must’ve packed everything into that one bag. Tourists. Always trying to save a few dollars on things like carry-on when you just know they’ll blow a month’s salary in the pubs while they’re here.

  “Oh, by the way,” he says, apparently just remembering, “I’m expecting a phone call from my brother. Can you put that through to my room when it happens? He’s coming out here, too, but he got delayed a day. He’s going to stay in my room. Um, if that’s okay?”

  “No worries. We’ll ring it right through.”

  “Thanks. My brother and I are going to have so much fun on this trip. Everyone’s so nice down here.”

  “We’re usually a very friendly bunch here in Australia—”

  I was interrupted by the sounds of several somethings clattering loudly in the dining room. The string of words that follow the noise… well, they’re definitely not friendly.

  Rosie doesn’t usually talk like that. At least, she didn’t used to.

  Closing my eyes, I count to ten, and when I open them again I put my smile back in place for Mark. “Would you excuse me? I have to go deal with something.”

  “Sure. I’ll, uh, just head up to my room. On the first floor. See you later.”

  That was my last check-in for the day, and now with Mark settled in I have plenty of time to take care of what was going on in the other room. We have sixteen rooms in the Inn, on the two floors above us, with mine at the far end of the second floor up top. This time of year we’re usually pretty empty. Most folks go home for Christmas, not to tourist towns like Lakeshore, all the way back of Bourke and sitting in the shadow of the Hartz Mountains National Park.

  The Hartz Mountains are a big attraction for hikers and campers and those going on walkabout, with easy trails and hard trails, waterfalls and lakes and wildlife. Everyone visiting is on their own because there’s no Park Rangers stationed there, but no worries though, the trails are easy. Hartz Peak’s the highest elevation in there and even that’s not one of the top ten in Tassie. I’ve hiked it myself any number of times. From up there, off in the distance, you can see all the way to the Devil's Boulders, a giant rock formation that looks remarkably similar to the Devil's Marble's in the Northern Territory but has a slightly more symetrical design.

  I’d just as soon keep the Devil at a distance, myself, but you don’t always get what you wish for.

  Since this was something of a slow season for us, I figured it’d be the perfect time for Rosie to come back to work. That’s my business partner and my best friend, Rosie Ryan. I do most of the business side of things, and Rosie handles the kitchen. She creates menus that would do for kings and prime ministers, overseeing a small staff of waiters and cooks with an iron fist and what is usually a pleasant, jovial attitude.

  She’s spent the last six months with her two new babies, beautiful twin boys, and we’d both agreed it was time for her to come back. One of the perks of being a partner in the business is you can leave when you need to, and come back when you want. I expected she would ease into things, especially since her mother was in town to take care of the twins at her home. All the stars had seemed to be lining up.

  Something else crashes to the floor in the dining room and Rosie lets loose with a fluent string of complaints spanning the gamut from the cutlery being set the wrong way on the tables, to the scallop pies being made with red wine instead of white.

  Maybe she could have done with another few weeks at home.

  Looking around the corner, into the dining area with its orderly setup of round tables and four chairs at each, I see Rosie in her flowered apron, her chestnut brown hair bouncing about her round face as she waves her arms around dramatically. Her voice rises and falls with every single gesture as she belts out directions at a small group of the staff.

  “And ya can’t be folding the napkins into squares,” she shouts at them. “No squares. No squares!”

  She began running from table to table, pulling napkins out from under knives and forks and tossing them into the air. They went fluttering down to the floor like birds. Our cutlery fell with much less grace.

  Oh, snap. What’s got into her?

  Rosie’s always been a plump woman. She packed on a few more pounds during and after her pregnancy, too, and she carries it well but sliding between the tables in a rush isn’t easy for her. Along with the cutlery, chairs go toppling to the floor as well.

  This can’t go on. I knew Rosie was having some trouble adjusting back to work, but this was a job she loved, and she’s never been snappish with the staff. Well. Not like this, she hasn’t.

  When she gets around to a table in front of where I’m standing she stops and smiles like nothing at all had just been going on. “Heya, Dell. Just having a little talking-to with our employees. That is, if they want to stay our employees. Only been gone six months and they seem to’ve forgotten everything I ever taught them!”

  I love my Rosie. We’ve been best friends since University. I’m the unofficial godmother to her children. We do everything together. But, sometimes her emotions get the better of her.

  Other times she’s just plain klutzy.

  Untying her apron as she talks to me, she tosses it aside. It lands on top of a table. Right on top of the candle lamp.

  One of the staff quickly picks it up as it starts to smoke, before it could catch fire.

  That’s my Rosie.

  “Hey,” I say to her, laying my hand on her arm to keep her from launching into another tirade. “Why don’t you and I go talk in the kitchen?”

  Behind us, the staff quietly began putting the dining room back together. I swear I hear them all give a sigh of relief, all at the same time. They’re a good bunch of people. I’m going to have to talk to them all later, and let them know we really do appreciate them.

  The half doors separating the kitchen and the dining room swing back and forth against each other as we walk through. The kitchen is Rosie’s pride and joy. We’ve redone it a couple of times, with a new double-oven stove and nice soapstone countertops. The pots and pans hanging from a ceiling rack are the same ones Rosie’s used for years, though. She’s very particular about things like that.

  “Have a seat,” I tell her, taking one of the stools at the center island and motioning her to the other. “Let’s chat, just you and me.”

  “Oh, Dell, I’ve got too much to do just to sit! The dinner menu’s all out of whack and I’ve already had to completely rearrange the kitchen, top to bottom.” Still, she sits herself down next to me, fanning herself with her hand as she
does. “I don’t know who ya had running this place while I was on leave, but they surely did make a mess of all this. I knew I shoulda came back two months ago like I wanted to.”

  “And I told you to take some time with your children,” I remind her. “We own this Inn together, Rosie. We can afford to take some time for ourselves when we need it. That was always our dream, remember? To own a place that let us be ourselves.”

  “Well, this is who I am.” She throws her arms in the air, nearly knocking off a copper frying pan hanging above us. “I cook. That’s what I do. I’m a good cook, Dell. No, I’m a fantastically amazing wonderful cook. I may not be much good at anything else, but I know how to turn unremarkable ingredients into something spectacular. If anyone wants to tell me that I’m no good at the rest of my life, oh well that’s just fine, but no one can take this away from me!”

  “Whoa now, Rosie. Where is this coming from?”

  The fire in her eyes from a moment before fades, and her gaze drops to the floor. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

  “Yes, you do.” I reach over and put my hand on her arm. “Seriously, you can talk to me. You’re all upset over something. You’ve never spoken to the staff like that. You certainly never go about intentionally wrecking your own dining room. Is something wrong? Something between you and Josh, maybe?”

  Josh is Rosie’s wonderful husband, and I can’t imagine there ever being a day’s worth of trouble between the two of them. The look on Rosie’s face makes me know I’m right. Whatever’s happening, it’s not Josh.

  “Perish the thought,” she says to me. “That man is my rock. The way he is with our two young ones, with Daniel and Angus, I couldn’t have asked to be with a better man. No, it’s not him.”