Shadow Over Edmund Street by Suzanne Frankham (best e reader for android .txt) 📗

according to Mrs O’Brien just about makes her an alien, or at the very least, a sinner. Then the “big” thing happened. She decided to sell her house. Mrs O’Brien was adamant she would never have sold if this Rose person hadn’t encouraged her. The cottage at number eleven came up for sale and Edwina wanted to buy it.’

Marion glared at Jerry. ‘And yes, Jerry, one of her school friends had grown up there, so she knew the property.’

‘Inbreeding in the inner city. But carry on, I wouldn’t want to interrupt.’

‘So,’ Marion continued, ‘this woman … Rose … helped or encouraged her to sell, and buy the cottage. Edwina made a lot of money. Her old place was a double block on the corner, fronting onto the main road. It was bought by a company that is converting it into offices. And no,’ Marion looked at Jerry, ‘I don’t think this Rose ended up with the money. According to Mrs O’Brien, the extra money was invested with another St Joseph’s person who has a law firm in the shopping centre. According to the old bird, he’s sharp. Wouldn’t let a schemer like Rose get away with anything.’

Everyone turned towards Jerry. ‘I love it.’ He thumped the table. ‘Incestuous. I love it.’

‘Then more shocks for poor old Mrs O’Brien. Edwina decided to learn to drive, bought a car and as far as Mrs O’Brien is concerned, that led to the job, which led to her death. And as sure as night follows day it’s this woman Rose’s fault. If Edwina had never met Rose she’d still be alive.’

‘Loses weight, gets a new hair style, I bet she went out and splurged on nice clothes. Did you check?’ said Jerry. ‘As far as I know those are all big arrows pointing in one direction. Straight to high heel shoes, makeup and men. Don’t you think?’ he added, his voice dripping sugar.

DAY 2

Rose had a love-hate relationship with Mondays. After a long, lonely weekend she was ready to kickstart the week and Monday morning was her favourite time. One hour of pure escapism at a dance aerobics class. A group of women dancing to salsa beats, hip hop rappers, rock and roll—anything with a steady beat and a bit of rhythm. It left her smiling and happy.

It was the afternoon she approached with caution. ‘Introduction to Zoology’ labs. Full of first year students finding their way. Rose hadn’t thought about a job when she found herself back in Auckland. There had been a house to buy, schools to sort out, an endless list of things to be done. But one afternoon she’d run into an old university friend, Tim Barrett. A professor now. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been in black jeans, black shirt, a black leather jacket and rode a motorbike. Now he wore checked shirts, had greying hair and a ginger-white beard. But it was still Tim. Kind and helpful.

‘Why don’t you come and work for me?’ he asked when he heard about her Master’s degree finally completed, her thesis handed in. ‘It’s not much of a job. Coordinating the first-year labs. It’s meant to be done by PhD students, but it hasn’t worked well. We need continuity in the position. You could do it with your eyes closed.’

Rose had been surprised, caught unaware, laughed and said, ‘Why not?’ She couldn’t think of a single sensible reason not to take the job. Different from saying yes, but Tim hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t told him how scared she was to take her first tiny step back into the work force. He remembered her as the smart one, the one who always topped the exams. But that had been a long time ago, before her children, before constantly moving around the world, when her brain was sharp and true. Before it had been mutilated by death and worry and misery. Now she spent twice as much time in the labs as she should, and always ran through the dissections beforehand to make sure there were no surprises. Confidence, that’s what she was trying to find. And to make matters worse, on this particular Monday morning there was a planning meeting scheduled for nine-thirty. She would have to miss her gym class. No dancing to the heavy beat of drums to start her day.

* Alex woke with his mind spinning. Find Rose … find Rose … find Rose … had thumped through his head most of the night. It was always like this at the start of an investigation—interrupted sleep, his brain working overtime in the wee small hours of the morning weaving information together, crafting pictures, making up stories. In this case, the need to find Rose was paramount. Rose was the key to Edwina’s new life.

It was arranged. Marion would be waiting at the Harcourt Street gym with two uniforms to interview the 9.30 am dance aerobics class. Meanwhile, Alex was off to church to meet the priest. If Edwina spent most of her spare time at St Joseph’s, then someone there must know something. When it came to religion, Alex was the expert.

Alex’s name and his height came from his tall, lean Scottish ancestors. According to his ex-wife—in her angry moments—they were also to blame for his stubbornness, inflexibility, coldness and a host of other negative traits. In her more loving moments—the ones she’d casually tossed aside—she made a lot of his strong regular features, perfect teeth, self-reliance and his steadiness in life. In the end, whatever she'd liked about him hadn’t been enough.

All Alex’s mother had contributed, in the way of looks anyway, were his dark eyes and thick straight black hair. But her spiritual imprint had been strong. There’d been service every Sunday, bible class studies and religious instruction camps. He remained uncomfortable remembering the clumsy way he’d announced, with the certainty of a sixteen-year-old, that he no longer believed in God. His mother’s hysteria. Pain. There’d been months, even years, of stormy religious arguments and