The Betrayal of Ebony Makepeace E-Book

Janeen Ann O'Connell

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Ebony Makepeace has had enough. Still living in Bradley's townhouse on the Altona foreshore, she is struggling to build a new life for herself.

When tentacles of drama again wrap themselves around Bradley Culley and his family, Ebony feels as if she is suffocating. She needs to escape. Meanwhile, Brad grapples with his criminal brother, the death of his mother, Wilhelmina, and disappearing money. While Brad turns to his uncle for help, Ebony spends six months on her own in Ballarat.

Will they find out what really happened to Bradley's mother, and will Ebony return to him... or are they already too far apart?

Leseprobe

THE BETRAYAL OF EBONY MAKEPEACE

BRAD CULLEY MYSTERIES

BOOK 2

JANEEN ANN O'CONNELL

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Chapter A1

Chapter B1

1. Brad

2. Brad

3. Ebony

4. Brad

5. Brad

6. Sandy

7. Brad

Chapter 8

9. Sandy

10. Tomy

11. Brad

12. Ebony

13. Brad

14. Ebony

15. Brad

16. Ebony

17. Brad

18. Sandy

19. Brad

20. Brad

21. Sandy

22. Brad

23. Brad

24. Ebony

25. Brad

26. Sandy

27. Brad

28. Sandy

29. Brad

30. Ebony

31. Brad

Epilogue

Next in the Series

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2022 Janeen Ann O'Connell

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Lorna Read

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Without the support of my alpha reader, Denise Wood, this book would not have seen the light of day.

My beta readers ― Ally Britnell and Debra Hammer ― not only provided feedback on the plot, character development and let me know about typos, but they too are a great support.

To my publisher, Next Chapter Publishing and particularly its CEO Miika Hannila, I am very grateful for the opportunity to get my stories “out there”.

Thank you for reading.

Janeen

CHAPTER A1

Note to readers

Hi there,

I am an Australian and as such, use the Australian (and English) spelling of words. If you are in a country that uses US spelling, please don’t get cross with me because I spell differently.

Australia uses metric for measurement and distance. The characters talk in kilometres, not miles 😊

We have lots of little different quirks, even though we all technically speak the same language. Thank you for your understanding. I hope you enjoy the story.

Cheers

Janeen

CHAPTER B1

In case you missed Ebony Makepeace is Dead, or it’s been a while since you read it.

Here’s a recap:

Ebony Makepeace is an author who likes to eat cheese toasties and drink soy lattes in her favourite coffee shop in North Melbourne. One Tuesday morning in the café, while she has her head over her notebook, minding her own business and scribbling some ideas for her next novel, an odd-looking man, unknown to her, pulls out the empty chair at her table, and sits down. His attempts at trite conversation annoy her, and she hisses at him to go away. Instead, he bombards her brain with an unlikely story that someone wants her dead, and he is supposed to kill her. But, lucky for her, he is only going to wound her with the bullet he is about to release from the gun he is holding under the table.

Disbelief swallows Ebony’s senses and not until she feels the searing pain in her side, does she realise what he said.

While Ebony is in hospital recovering from the surgery to remove the bullet, the same man comes into her room, and injects something into the IV that is running into the cannula in her hand. Waking up cold and shaking, with a flimsy white sheet covering her, Ebony is confronted once again with the person she dubs Café Man. He explains he just saved her life by pretending she was dead. Now, she is to do exactly as he says.

Ebony’s life as she knew it no longer exists. Her parents, her friends, her readers, her publisher, think she is dead. To protect her, Café Man moves her out of her North Melbourne apartment into his house overlooking Port Phillip Bay, at Altona. Like Café Man, who tells her his name is Bradley Hector Culley, Ebony does not know why she was a target for assassination. Although she feels like a prisoner, Brad does not treat her as one, and the more time she spends in his house, the more comfortable she feels with him. He only stays when he is invited, and a sketchy romance starts to develop.

Bradley works tirelessly looking after Ebony, making sure she is safe, creating a new identity for her (Sherryn Forbes) and appeasing his father, who ordered Ebony’s death. Brad’s best friend, police detective Ryan Sanderson helps facilitate Ebony’s “murder” and “burial” and tries to keep his partner off Brad’s trail.

Wearing an elaborate disguise, Ebony attends her own funeral and hears her mother speaking to a man who says he is Ebony’s publisher. He introduces himself as Douglas Culley, owner of Sapphire Publishing. Ebony’s world falls further into the chasm of chaos as she processes this information and shares it with Brad.

Brad tries to find a connection between his father publishing Ebony’s books, and ordering her death.

Ebony Makepeace is dead, and Sherryn Forbes has taken her place.

1

BRAD

In what couldn’t be worse timing, my phone rang as I negotiated the traffic congestion, which was, sadly, now part of my daily grind. A glance at the display on the dash showed it was my personal assistant, Ferdinand. I let it ring. Nothing he said to me would get me to the office any quicker. But he persisted, calling three more times before I answered.

‘Were you asleep?’ he asked sarcastically. ‘While I am here running the show?’

‘And you do a marvellous job running the show, Ferdie.’ He hates being called Ferdie. But I pay him extremely well, so he can put up with my foibles now and again.

‘The coroner has released your father’s body. The funeral director wants you to call in, to see her ― to plan the funeral.’

‘You told her my calendar was free this morning, didn’t you, Ferdie?’

‘Of course I did. It is. Who else can do this last thing for your father? I told her you would be there around eight-thirty. See ya.’

Pangs of guilt at how my father died played with anxiety in my gut. They had a wonderful time while I wrangled my emotions and the traffic. These days, I hated myself for having been so ready to blame him. I took his psycho behaviour at face value, eager for him to be the villain. Eager to point the finger at a soft target. My brother Steven was the true psycho. But my self-loathing changed nothing. I would organise a fitting farewell.

Ebony should have been with me to discuss arrangements, but I didn’t want to turn the car around to go back and pick her up. Ebony and I lived in my place in Altona. Her decision. I preferred my townhouse in South Melbourne. Its location suited me: I could walk into the CBD of Melbourne if I felt so inclined, get to work quickly and, with easy access to Southbank, had my pick of great restaurants. But she liked the beach and had developed a fondness for a local café. And the local writing group she’d joined made her happy. After what my family put her through, it wouldn’t kill me to suffer living by the beach.

* * *

The funeral director’s premises were on a pleasant, tree-lined boulevard on the northern side of the city, where the tram line ran up the middle of the road. Further from the city than I would have liked. But Ferdinand, bless his heart, picked one that had a rainbow on its website. Externally, the building looked like a large Edwardian house. Inside, the ultra-modern, contemporary setting screamed wealth. I wondered how much wealth I’d be parting with.

Angela Blackwood was an impeccably presented older woman. She held out her hand and welcomed me, said she was pleased to make my acquaintance in such sad circumstances and showed me into her office. I thought my office was sumptuous; hers was next level. Two charcoal grey fabric couches that did not look shop bought ― I made a mental note to ask her where she had them made ― hugged the walls. Her large mahogany desk took centre stage. I noticed how tidy she had it, and a picture of my messy one flashed through my mind. Inoffensive artwork hung on the walls, which were painted a light grey; one of those colours that would take offence if you called it grey. It would see itself as Wooded Gum, or some other equally irrelevant name. The grey carpet appeared two or three shades darker than the walls, and they complemented each other well. An impressive space. Two armchairs that matched the couches sat on either side of a gas log fireplace. I hate pretend fires. This one, however, was the best I had seen, and I could almost smell the wood burning. She indicated I should sit in one of the chairs. Not as comfortable as it looked.

‘Nice fire,’ I said, no doubt impressing her with my wonderful command of the English language.

‘Thank you. It’s handy when we still get the odd cold day at this time of year. Spring is quite unpredictable, isn’t it?’

I nodded. I didn’t really want to engage in a conversation about the weather.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out, saw it was Ebony, and put it back without answering.

‘Do you need to get that?’ Ms Blackwood asked.

I shook my head. ‘No. All good. Let’s get on with the arrangements.’

Ms Blackwood ran a barrage of funeral things past me: the coffin, the type of service, the music, the video. She asked me who would speak, and who would be responsible for the eulogy. Would we have a presentation of my father’s life? How many mourners did I think would attend?

I shrank into the uncomfortable armchair and wished the fire would swallow me up.

‘Ms Blackwood, your attention to detail and your passion to do the best for the deceased is clear, but it is too much for me at the moment. My father’s death is the tip of the iceberg. I’ve had a difficult year. My assistant Ferdinand will call you. He can handle the arrangements on my behalf.’

Ms Blackwood stood up, waited for me to do the same, and reached out to shake my hand. ‘I completely understand, Mr Culley. There is a lot to consider. I’ll wait to hear from your assistant.’

2

BRAD

Ebony wore a blonde wig, a grey hat that fitted perfectly, a soft pink cowl neck jumper, a black wool three quarter coat, dark grey trousers, and black shoes. She had a soft pink handbag over her arm. She looked awesome, and everyone turned to gawk at us when we walked into the chapel. No one who knew Ebony Makepeace would have recognised her. Sherryn Forbes was on my arm.

Mourners occupied every seat in the chapel. They left the front row for the family.

‘I thought you said your father didn’t have many fans,’ Ebony whispered.

‘This way, Mr Culley.’ The funeral director’s smile was sincere, not over the top. Kind, reassuring. She led Ebony and me to the front.

I considered my best friend Sandy to be family. His partner when he was in the police force, Tomy was, too. (Whenever she was introduced, she sounded out her name – toe me.) They sat in the second row. As we walked past, I told them to sit with us. Ferdinand also had a family position in the front. Before sitting down, I looked back at the people who had come to pay their respects. Two board members from the mining company my father ran were at the rear. Only two. I couldn’t see my mother’s brother, Uncle Walton, and made a mental note to find out why he wasn’t there.

One of Sapphire Publishing’s authors was Master of Ceremonies, and after the usual pleasantries, he launched into a spiel about how wonderful Douglas Culley had been: a great mentor and a genuine supporter of new talent. When he finished, he wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and stepped down. Three others from the publishing company my father used as a hobby, took turns to espouse the virtues of the man I called “Arsehole”. Listening to the genuine appreciation and affection these people had for my father, I felt the guilt bubble away in my gut. My family handled the ordeal in their own way: Ebony fidgeted with the buttons on her jacket, Sandy bit his nails, Tomy’s stare bore into the casket. Ferdinand checked his phone.

Ferdinand and Sandy stood with me in the chapel’s foyer while I shook hands and thanked people for attending my father’s funeral. Ebony kept out of the limelight, Tomy at her side. When refreshments appeared, people lost interest in me and wandered off to munch on sourdough sandwiches and an assortment of patisseries from the French bakery down the road. I acknowledged Ms Blackwood, indicated to Ebony with a flick of my head that she and Tomy should meet me outside, and walked with Sandy and Ferdinand to the car park.

‘That was a surprise,’ Tomy said, as we hovered around my vehicle.

‘Tell me about it.’ I leant back on the driver’s door. ‘Didn’t I feel guilty when those people were singing his praises? Rhetorical question. I wish he had confided in me, had told me about my psychotic brother. We could have avoided all of this.’

‘Maybe not,’ Sandy mulled. ‘Steven is very clever as well as mad. Not a good combination.’

‘I should have killed him when my father told me to.’

I opened the car door and sank into the driver’s seat. Ebony took up her position as front passenger, and Ferdinand sat in the back, fumbling with the seat belt.

‘See you at Claude’s Bar for dinner,’ Sandy said, as he and Tomy got into his vehicle.

* * *

I didn’t feel like going to the office, but pangs of responsibility, something I would have to learn to live with, stabbed at my head. Ferdinand had carried my accounting practice long enough. It was time I got back on track.

‘I didn’t expect you in the office today.’

Ferdinand’s greeting had me looking over my shoulder to see who he was speaking to.

‘You are talking to me! Why wouldn’t I be here?’

‘I thought you and Miss Forbes would console each other.’ Ferdinand gave me the disapproving snarl he wore so well.

‘There’s work to be done, but don’t let that stop you from criticising me.’

‘That’s rich. I’m the one who held this place together while you were missing.’

It annoyed me when my assistant made me feel as if I owed him. I did, of course, but I didn’t need reminding.

‘And who organised that beautiful service for my father?’ Ferdinand always responded well to flattery.

‘Well. Yes. That, too. Do you want me in your office?’

‘When you’re ready,’ I challenged, opening my office door.

Ferdinand made himself comfortable in one of the leather armchairs, sitting back and arranging himself in a cross-legged position with a notebook on his knee.

‘I am going to tell you some things you won’t know. But it’s important you understand what’s been going on because I will need your help.’

He nodded his head. ‘I’m listening.’

I sat in the chair opposite him and filled him in on the parts of the story surrounding my father’s death that he didn’t know. He didn’t know about me being told to kill Steven. He didn’t know Steven had refused to disappear and had been tormenting my father. He didn’t know I had doubts my brother was telling the truth about my mother’s death, or that I wondered if she really were dead.

Ferdinand took notes on his pad. The hieroglyphics were as foreign as if he were writing in Japanese. He took shorthand, a long-lost art, and to me the jottings on the page did indeed look like another language.

‘Do we start with Steven’s financial interests?’ Ferdinand asked.

‘We will look at those, but I think my mother’s affairs should come first.’

3

EBONY

Ebony walked to her favourite café on Pier Street. Today was quiet. Mondays usually were. Tuesdays were busy because of the little street market along the footpath. Wednesdays were quiet in the colder months, but for the rest of the week she kept away from the thoroughfare unless she and Brad indulged in brunch. When she left the townhouse, she pulled her scarf up to cover her nose and mouth. Every now and then, the seaweed that washed up on the beach had a pungent smell which wafted all over the neighbourhood. Today was one of those days. It was the only thing about living here that she didn’t like.

Brad, Sandy, and Tomy were Ebony’s only friends in this life. Although she had two more friends in this life than she had in her previous one, she was often lonely. Going to the café filled a void.

The waiter acknowledged Ebony and followed her to the table with a jug of water in hand. He poured a glass and said he would be back with her flat white soy latte shortly. These little acknowledgements reminded her of her favourite café in North Melbourne; the one where Brad shot her. She shivered at the memory.

Ebony smelt the freshly ground beans and her favourite soymilk brand long before the waiter put the coffee in front of her. She nodded and smiled at the young man when he asked if she would like to order her usual toasty.

While she waited for her lunch, Ebony organised her notebook and pencils and looked around the café and into the street for some inspiration. This book was not writing itself. Most of the others she’d written started with a sketchy plan and the characters took over quickly. They guided the plot and came up with problems for each other. She shook her head, wondering if being Sherryn Forbes and not Ebony Makepeace was affecting her mojo.

The vibration and buzzing of her phone as it danced around inside her bag startled her. She looked at the screen. Brad.

‘Hi there,’ she said, swallowing a mouthful of coffee.

‘Hi. I’ll be late tonight. Ferdinand and I are working through a search, and I’m going to visit my mother’s family estate before I come home.’

‘Oh. Ok. But it’s your turn to cook.’ Ebony would not let Brad weasel out of the agreement he’d made with her. She was determined not to be the “housewife”.

‘Fair enough. Don’t want to appear as if I’m manipulating our arrangement. I’ll go tomorrow. I’ll be home at the usual time. Love you.’

‘Bye,’ Ebony said without returning Brad’s “love you.” She knew that would annoy him and grinned when she held the coffee cup to her mouth.