Chapter 8
Brianna’s wake-up phone call from Molly had been both extremely early and extremely devastating.
Pulling her robe in tight, making sure not to tread on any large shards of glass – her thongs wouldn’t provide much protection – she inhaled a sharp breath as the door creaked open under her hand, the familiar chime of bells absent.
They had been ripped clean from the hinges, destroyed like everything else that made Molly’s bookstore-café a sanctuary for Sweetwater residents and travellers passing through.
Inside, destruction lay thick like fog. The scent of yesterday’s coffee, bitter roast and steamed milk was muddled with the sharp tang of violation.
This wasn’t a random smash and grab.
It felt personal.
Violent.
But who’d want to do something like this, to someone as gentle and radiant as Molly?
She thought about this as she stepped lightly over scattered pages and carefully around overturned furniture.
Shelves once bursting with poetry and novels and cookbooks now gaped like broken ribs.
Toppled teacups lay shattered near the counter, the fragments of what had been Molly’s pride and joy slicing at Brianna’s heart.
Sensing the foreboding energy, Sherlock pressed close to her leg, tail down, ears up.
Alert. Ready to protect her if need be. And she loved him all the more for it.
‘Molly must be so heartbroken, buddy,’ she murmured.
The damage was worse than she expected. It had to be targeted.
Deliberate. The back till was smashed, the café’s cash float gone, but oddly, none of the new espresso equipment had been touched.
A robbery, yes, but rushed. Erratic. Maybe even, dare she think it, by someone familiar with the establishment.
She turned away from the shattered heartbreak as the rumble of a diesel engine approached, headlights flicking once across the smashed front window.
Relief bloomed in her chest when she spotted Gavin hopping out first, followed by Hayden, his expression unreadable.
He closed the door with a finality that echoed in the ruin.
Gavin waved at her. ‘We saw Molly outside the cop shop and she told us what happened,’ he explained. ‘Cops have already dusted for prints and taken photos, so we thought we could help clear up.’ He stepped into the wreckage. ‘Jesus. It’s like a bloody cyclone swept through.’
Hayden said nothing at first. He simply walked past the threshold, eyes sharp, taking it all in.
‘I think it’s safe to say they weren’t after books,’ he said eventually, crouching near the counter. ‘Or coffee. They were definitely looking for something.’
‘Or someone,’ Brianna added softly.
A long, weighty pause followed.
‘Any chance this could’ve been rebellious kids?’ Gavin asked, though his tone lacked conviction. ‘She was a teacher years ago, before deciding it wasn’t for her, so maybe that enticed some young idiots to target her.’
‘Maybe, but she hasn’t been a teacher in over twelve years.’ Brianna shook her head slowly. ‘And besides, most kids don’t pry open safes or know how to kill the power. Which whoever did this must have, because Molly said the alarms didn’t go off.’
Hayden’s jaw tensed. ‘Then it was planned. Someone who knew the place.’
No one said what they were all thinking.
It had to be someone local.
With the police having already done their investigations, and Molly still down at the station giving her statement, they worked in tense silence, moving with purpose.
While Gavin patched the window with a temporary board and Brianna righted display tables, Hayden found the alarm wires, sliced clean.
Wide-eyed, Brianna looked from the mess of wires to him.
Whoever had done this knew exactly where to look.
She couldn’t bear to think that someone she’d met, someone she may have brushed shoulders with at one of the local stores, or the bi-annual shindig the previous weekend, had done this.
A few hours later, showered, with toast and tea swirling in her nauseated belly, Brianna headed over to the main street of town to run a couple of necessary errands.
Whispers had already started snaking their way through town, as they would in any small community.
Standing in line at the post office, she overheard the conversation taking place at the counter where people wrote addresses on letters and parcels, the one where there was often a string that a pen should have been attached to, but wasn’t.
‘Could’ve been those city kids camping near the dam last week.’ The younger of the two men spoke in a hushed, yet still audible, voice.
A bloke with bushy grey eyebrows shrugged. ‘Maybe, but remember how old Kev’s nephew got into a spot of trouble in Dimbulah a few years back, maybe he’s fallen in with the wrong crowd again, and wreaking havoc on our town now.’
‘Yeah, possibly, but I don’t reckon he’d be that stupid. Kev would have his hide if he got in any trouble with the law again.’ The younger bloke rubbed his scraggly beard. ‘What do you reckon?’
‘I reckon you might be right,’ was the older man’s response.
Called up to the counter, Brianna left the conversation behind her, the suspicions of the men matching her own.
Who had Molly upset? God only knew how she could ever make an enemy considering how lovely she was to everyone.
And who would be so angry that they felt the need to destroy all that mattered to her?
All the unanswered questions plagued her, and the weight of the local men’s words clung to her like the dry heat radiating off the bitumen alongside her.
She shook it off as best she could – speculation was practically currency in towns like Sweetwater – but it left her uneasy.
A few doors down she reached the bakery, and the bell above the door chimed a sweet, familiar note, a stark contrast to the chaos of the morning.
The scent of fresh bread, vanilla slice and something buttery and savoury filled her lungs, grounding her for a moment in the comfort of normalcy.
Behind the glass counter stood the owner’s wife, Lena, her apron dusted with flour and a tiny smear of Vegemite on her cheek.
Lena’s hands moved deftly, wrapping up a half-dozen sausage rolls for a customer, then after passing the brown paper bag over with a smile, she looked to Brianna.
‘Oh hey,’ she said a little less cheerily than normal.
‘I heard about Molly’s place. Bloody awful.
And with you right down the lane, too, which I could only imagine would be unnerving.
’ She reached over the counter and lightly touched Brianna’s arm. ‘Are you holding up okay?’
‘Oh, I’m all right.’
‘And Molly?’ Lena asked, her face crumpling in concern.
‘Molly’s shaken but strong.’ Brianna didn’t feel it was her place to say anything more. ‘I thought I’d grab some lunch for the clean-up crew, Hayden, Gavin, me, and Molly, of course. Anything hot, easy and morale-boosting.’
‘Coming right up.’ Lena smiled, swiftly loading up paper bags with pies and mini quiches. ‘I’ll pop in a few bits of lemon slice, too. Tell Molly it’s from the first tray I pulled this morning. Extra sugar on top. She always likes it super sweet, like her.’
‘She’ll love that, thanks so much, Lena,’ Brianna replied warmly.
She stepped aside to wait for her order, glancing around the bustling little shop.
A few regulars were seated at the window, sipping tea and nibbling on pastries.
Two elderly women sat at a small round table tucked into the corner.
The Jenkins twins. Identical right down to their iron-straight silver hair and habit of clutching matching knitted handbags.
She’d been to the house of one of their nieces to check in on a sick cat, and had met them there, briefly.
They weren’t the friendliest of the Sweetwater locals, that was for sure.
She subtly tried to listen in on their intense conversation, hoping it might give her something about Molly’s break-in – they were known to be the gossips of the town.
Their voices were low, but not low enough to mask the sharp edge of suspicion.
So, feeling bad but compelled, Brianna moved slightly closer so she could clearly hear what they were saying.
‘They say she’s been keeping more than just books in that shop of hers,’ said the first one – Mavis, if Brianna remembered right.
Then, eyes darting left to right, she leant in over her almond croissant, eyes gleaming behind round spectacles.
‘I always said there was something off about Molly’s little project. ’
The other twin, Grace, pursed her lips. ‘You mean, you think it’s a front?’
‘Exactly,’ Mavis hissed. ‘She was a teacher, then a librarian, then she found money to open that shop. And her brother, he was always a bit of trouble, in my opinion. Leopards and spots, Grace. Leopards and spots.’ She tutted, then took a dainty sip from her tea.
Brianna didn’t know that Molly had a brother. She’d never mentioned him.
‘Mmm. You might be onto something, Mavis,’ Grace replied, nodding.
‘My guess is it’s why her shop’s wrecked.’ Mavis tutted again. ‘You can draw your own lines, Grace, but mine connect quite neatly, I tell you.’
Brianna’s jaw tensed. She didn’t want to eavesdrop, not really, but how could she not?
The kind of speculation dripping from these women’s mouths wasn’t just harmful, it was dangerous.
Reckless. No one had any proof. Just fear disguised as fact.
She stepped back from the counter slightly, keeping her expression neutral, but her eyes were trained on the reflection in the glass display.
‘It’s always the quiet ones,’ Mavis continued.
‘Sweetwater’s changing, and I don’t like it, Mavis, I don’t like it at all,’ Grace said mournfully. ‘It never used to be like this, back in our day.’