Before this conversation became any more macabre, Daphne excused herself and went to find John. As she wound her way past the tables, a familiar sensation raised the hairs on her arms, and she glanced back. Desmond leaned on his cane with both hands, his eyes following her.

  Browsing the collection of photographs made John happy. He was surprised by the depth of quality in the entries and returned twice to an image of an old cottage. The house was unloved, in need of paint and repair. But the gardens were spectacular and immaculate. Not a weed in sight and manicured lawns with a sweeping path between long beds filled with flowers and trees. He was taken by a long garden bed of roses alternating red, pink, and yellow varieties. Very striking, with the riot of colour against the drab exterior of the house creating an interesting contrast. Something loved. Something neglected.

  Judging was complete for the photographs and this one had placed but not won its section. He compared it to the winning entry, a nice enough image of a tree but without the attention to detail of the other one.

  I still have much to learn.

  Daphne was on her way to meet him, but she glanced over her shoulder and he couldn’t help but look in the same direction. The older man from the funeral, the one who’d hurt his ankle, stared at Daphne.

  His stomach tightened. Something about the man’s intensity bothered John. Daphne always knew when someone was watching her, and she’d obviously glanced back thanks to her intuition. Something was off about this whole day, between odd behaviour from mourners through to the dropped casket and missing body.

  “John? You look worried.”

  “That man. Did you speak to him?” he asked.

  “Desmond. Yes, he was one of the pallbearers and hurt his ankle when the casket fell. And yes, he was watching me walk over here.” Daphne took his arm. “Have you seen enough of the photographs?”

  “Feeling a bit hungry, actually. Shall we find some food?” John was happy to leave this building, and they found a food truck outside and got on the end of the line.

  “He painted Edwina,” Daphne said.

  “Sorry?”

  “Oh. Back there I was talking with Desmond. I’d been looking at a painting of a woman and he told me he did it. And that he was no fan of hers, but they’d been neighbours for decades.”

  Maybe he stole her body to get back at her for something.

  “So, he didn’t like her but did a painting of her.” He pushed his unkind thoughts away.

  “Said it showed how conflicted a person she was. She was looking in a mirror and the real Edwina was stern and angry, but the reflection was happy. But you know what I think?”

  They moved forward as people were served and left the line.

  “I got the impression that whoever painted it had a strong emotional attachment to the subject, but when I said that Desmond scoffed at the idea. I think he once loved her. Perhaps still does.”

  They ordered hotdogs and chips and returned to the main field to eat. The show jumping was underway and the grandstand was almost full of spectators, but they squeezed into a row near the front. One by one, horses and their riders navigated the arena in a timed competition that left people gasping and clapping. The food wasn’t as good as the entertainment and Daphne only finished half of her hotdog.

  “Bit on the cold side.” She dabbed her lips with a napkin.

  “Sorry. We’ll make up for it with a nice restaurant meal in the next couple of days.”

  “I’m not complaining.” Daphne took his hand as they headed away from the grandstand. “Besides, we might find some goodies in the produce pavilion.”

  Evening was closing in and enormous overhead lights powered up with a series of crackles. Further past the art show they located another building, this one up a long ramp and with lots of glass windows. At the entrance, a table was set up with free goodie bags and a smiling woman handed one to each of them.

  “Well, this is nice,” Daphne said. “Which way should we go?”

  “Daphne! Over here.”

  A female voice boomed from the far wall.

  “Tracy.” Daphne didn’t sound very enthusiastic but now the woman was bustling towards them it was too late to pretend they hadn’t seen her.

  Talking to Desmond was one thing, but Tracy was a different matter.

  Be nice. Ignore her sharp tongue. Move on quickly.

  She was enjoying her visit to the show with John and hadn’t considered the woman might be here.

  Tracy wore a mid-length brown skirt, long boots, and cream blouse and over that, had a vest with ‘Official Judge’ on a rosette pinned on the front. She carried a clipboard and was heavily made up. Even at the funeral she’d been less dressed up.

  “Daphne, Daphne. I hope you’ve got some news for me.”

  “News?”

  “Well, yes. I’d imagine Fred would let you know first when the rescheduled funeral will be.” She frowned. “Guess it means Edwina is still missing in action. Whoops. I mean, inaction. Better not let anyone else hear me joking about it.”

  That was a joke?

  “I saw Desmond a short while ago and he had news that there was no progress from the police. Something about a group chat?” Daphne said.

  “Never understood why someone his age is messing around on social media. I can only imagine what Fred did with her, but he’d better find her fast. All of this right in the middle of the biggest event of the year is terribly inconvenient,” Tracy grumbled.

  Daphne was lost for words. A woman had died and then been removed from her casket by persons unknown. It might have inconvenienced Tracy, but it had done a bit more to poor Edwina.

  “Anyway, we must do our best to go on. Come and see what I’ve been doing.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Tracy strode to a series of long tables. They were set up with multiple levels and on each were individual displays of bottled goods. All had their lids off, and a sample of the wares was on a small side plate. Each was numbered and there were handwritten labels on all.

  “This competition is always fiercely contested. Until now.” Tracy waved an arm dramatically in the direction of the jars. “All of these are from within our own region and use fruit or vegetables from this area, so it is seasonal. There are jams, chutneys, even locally made mustards. And preserved lemons, baby cucumber, cherries… the list goes on. And my job is to select the top three.”

  “You said ‘until now’? Is something different this show?”

  Tracy rolled her eyes. “Well, obviously. No entries from Edwina so the competition is fairer. At least as far as the sauces go. And the grand prize.”

  John wandered along the table, inspecting the display.

  “Sauces?” Daphne had no idea what the woman was talking about.

  “You must have heard about her secret recipe?”

  “Only something Ilona mentioned. But no, I have no idea about a secret recipe.”

  Tracy laughed. “Edwina would be turning in her grave. Whoops. Too soon? Anyway, she imagined her sauce was world famous and kept the recipe hidden so it wouldn’t be stolen. But it doesn’t matter, because the absence of her sauce means other people have a go at winning, even if they don’t deserve it.”

  “I see numbers, so each entry is anonymous?” Daphne asked. There was some delicious looking apricot jam which made her mouth water. As long as it didn’t include rhubarb.

  “Of course. We couldn’t have competitors claiming I was prejudiced in my decisions. Mind you…” She leaned closer to Daphne to issue a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve judged so many of these competitions that I could probably guess who made what. Good thing I’m not open to bribery.”

  Good thing nobody overheard you.

  “I’m sure everyone would consider you a fair judge. If you’ve been doing this for so long, they must value your expert opinion,” Daphne said, her eyes drifting back to the apricot jam.

  Tracy nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’m well respected. At least by most people. Edwina never liked my decisions, but she wasn’t nearly as good in the kitchen as she believed.” She looked over Daphne’s shoulder. “Speaking of people whose creations aren’t as good as they think… hello there, Sonia. Have to say I’m surprised to see you here.”

  For the first time, she agreed with Tracy. Sonia was last seen sitting alone under a tree. What a traumatic day she’d had and from Daphne’s observation, there was little in the way of comfort offered to her from the other mourners. Not even from Fred, who’d earlier revealed an almost fatherly side when he’d counselled her to calm down. He’d been caught up with his own troubles, of course, but still, was there nobody at the funeral who cared enough to check the daughter of the deceased was coping?

  “Haven’t you finished judging yet? Or whatever you call judging. People want to know who won.”

  Sonia was dressed in the same clothes as the funeral—black knee-length dress, black tights, and black ankle boots. Her skin was tinged pink, no doubt from sitting in the sun for so long. She didn’t bother to look at Daphne or Tracy but gazed up and down the table.

  Tracy huffed, clutched the clipboard against her chest, and stalked to the opposite side of the table where she glared at Sonia.

  Daphne’s heart thumped.

  I’d like to tell you both to be nice. It’s a difficult time.

  Her phone rang and she couldn’t grab it out of her handbag fast enough. She stepped away to answer.

  “Mrs Jones, this is Leading Senior Constable Smith. Adam.”

  “Oh, yes. How are you? I mean, is there any news?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. And the answer is yes. And no.”

  “I see. Well, not really.”

  John joined her and she mouthed ‘Adam’ to him.

  “We did have a lead earlier which hasn’t panned out. It probably was a long shot, but we’d had a tip-off and it was worth following up,” Adam said.

  “Do you mean the one about local youngsters playing a rather bizarre prank?”

  He chuckled. “Small towns. Can’t keep a secret. Although the whereabouts of Edwina Drinkwater is one secret I wish would make it to the Shady Bend grapevine. The main reason for the call is to see if you mind answering a few more questions. In the morning will do, assuming you and your husband aren’t planning on leaving before then?”

  “The morning is fine. Shall we come to the police station?” Daphne asked.

  “If you can. I’ll send you a text message with the address. Any time between nine and eleven is great, but if I end up having to attend anything I’ll let you know.”

  They chatted for a minute then Daphne disconnected the call.

  “Adam wants to ask a few questions in the morning. I imagine he’s trying to fill in the gaps.”

  “So, no success finding the… er, missing person?”

  “Not yet. Do you think we can slip away?”

  “Let’s try.” John took her arm and they zigzagged between displays and people through the pavilion.

  Once they were a safe distance away from where they’d been, she risked a look back. Tracy and Sonia were talking. Their body language was no longer angry; in fact, if Daphne hadn’t seen so much animosity between the women today, she’d have thought them to be friends. Close friends. Sonia even smiled as she spoke with animation and Tracy patted her arm.

  Adam wasn’t wrong about small town secrets. From the odd behaviour of several residents today, Shady Bend had its fair share.

  EIGHT

  A FEAR FROM THE PAST

  After another hour of sampling cheese, buying some local wine, and indulging childhood memories with popcorn, they were more than ready to head back to Bluebell.

  With the coming of night, visitors spilled through the gates at a rapidly increasing rate until the pathways and road filled with excited faces and laughter. Teenagers grouped together and they might have been the loudest, but they also stepped aside to make room for prams and the occasional wheelchair. Daphne smiled at them. She’d loved being a foster mother to children but really enjoyed having teenagers in the house. There was something special about watching a child grow into young adulthood.

  “And then they disappear,” she said under her breath.

  John turned his head to look at her, a question in his eyes. Hopefully, he hadn’t heard. She didn’t want to tell him where her thoughts drifted to some days. Her wishful thinking about reuniting with some of their foster children. One, in particular.

  He squeezed her hand. “We seem to be a long way from the gate. Want to cut through the carnival?”

  “Oh. Um, sure.” It wouldn’t be so bad. There was an almost straight path from where they were now to the road they’d come in on. A Ferris wheel towered over the carnival where attendants shouted above music blaring from one ride after another. People lined up at food trucks and rides alike. Lights flashed in time with a procession of recorded silly voices at a shooting range.

  “Here, I’ll carry your bags.” John took the handful of sample and show bags from Daphne and added them to his, then offered her his free hand. “Fancy going on the Ferris wheel?”

  “My, oh my. No, thank you. Just the idea of being all the way up there is enough to make me dizzy.”

  “Sorry.” John guided them past a fire breather who’d gathered a small crowd around himself. “We’ve never been to a carnival or anything together and I don’t really know why. I always went as a kid. My parents even took us kids to Melbourne Royal Show one year.” He grinned. “Never forgot how big it was. Could fit ten of this size shows into it. Twenty. And the showbags were so expensive we were only allowed one each and boy, did we spend our time making those choices.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  This was taking a long time, walking through here. Her spare hand moved to her chest, pressing against it. And for some reason she was having trouble swallowing.

  “Daph?”

  People milled around. The music was loud. Perspiration dripped between her shoulder blades.

  “Daphne. Doll, are you alright?”

  Why did John sound worried? She smiled at him and nodded.

  Get a grip, Daph.

  From ahead, a different tune cut through the crowd where painted horses bobbed up and down and around. The music must be the same for every carousel on the planet.

  She stopped, her mouth open as she fought for air that just wouldn’t reach her lungs.

  “Okay. Something isn’t right. Are you unwell?” John turned to face her, still holding one of her hands. “Or is it the side show?”

  Daphne nodded.

  A flicker of a smile crossed his lips. “With the absence of a definitive answer I’m assuming it is the side show.”

  She nodded again. Her words weren’t coming out and if her heart didn’t stop thudding so hard, she might fall in a heap right on this spot.

  “We can turn back.” John scanned the area around them. “Actually, I think we can get behind all of this. Looks as though the fence is just the other side of these tents and at least then we’re away from the bulk of the noise. Give it a go?”

  He didn’t really give her much choice, just gripped her hand more firmly and set off between two food trucks. She held on for dear life. Because, if she lost him…

  “Ah. Just as I thought. Step over the cables on the ground. I can see a path through.”

  True to his word, in a few minutes they were at the boundary fence. It was a relief to stop here, away from the chaos of the carnival. It was still noisy but in the darkness her heart slowed to normal, and she swallowed.

  John ran his hand over the mesh fence. “This is temporary fencing. Let’s see if we can find a gap.”

  Daphne giggled.

  “No giggling, young lady. We are escapees and must find a way out before we’re caught.” John’s voice was stern, which only made Daphne laugh harder. He followed the fence in oversized steps, slightly hunched and darting his head from side to side. All they needed was some comedic spy music. “Aha! We don’t even need those giant bolt cutters you keep in your handbag. Or explosives in your pocket. Just let me move this a bit…” He carefully lifted a panel. “And we can slip through before anyone sees.”

  It didn’t take long to step through the space and then John replaced the panel. Without another word, he picked up the bags he’d dropped on the ground and then her hand. The night was lit by an almost full moon which was just as well with the lights of the show behind them. They were on the grassy field not far from the carpark and that is where they headed. Only when they were both in the car and John was pulling out of the carpark did Daphne let out a long sigh.

  “I’ve got you.” John reached over and patted her leg. “Never let anything bad happen.”

  Daphne opened her mouth to say he couldn’t be with her every minute but clamped it shut again. Instead, she covered his hand with hers until he needed it for the steering wheel.

  Being married to someone for decades teaches you about two important people. The person you married and yourself. John had no doubt Daphne was the reason he was the man he was proud to be. Her unwavering belief in him had seen him through plenty of tough times and gave him confidence to start their real estate business all those years ago. And he’d become the trusted agent people came back to time and again from watching how she encouraged clients to talk about what they needed, rather than wanted.

  Today he’d discovered something new about Daphne. A fear she’d hidden their whole lives, if indeed she even knew it existed before tonight. So, he needed to listen when she was ready to tell him what she needed. And somehow not speculate in the meantime on the reason she’d turned white and looked ready to flee when they were at the carnival.

  “I might check my website, love. See if there’s anything pending for me.” Daphne carried her laptop to the table. “Can’t afford to miss a query.”

  “In that case, I might update our blog. And can I pour you a glass of red wine to finish the evening?” He was already taking wine glasses from the cupboard over the sink and fancied opening one of the bottles they’d picked up at the show.