The Whispering Palms by Annette Leigh

Author:Annette Leigh [LEIGH, ANNETTE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

There weren’t many passengers on the Farr Island ferry. I climbed the stairs to the top deck. The engines caused the boat to shudder, like Jimmy’s death had shaken my world. My mind raced from question to question and only took a break when we passed Bedford Island.

Today there was no one on the jetty, or on the shore, or around the house. If Anne Schiller was there, she was keeping a low profile.

Maybe I could get used to living on an island like Bedford. Away from life in the city and Simon. I hadn’t thought about Simon all day. I was beginning to enjoy my freedom away from him, not having to answer to him all the time. I was getting used to a life without Simon, and I was shocked to realise I quite liked it.

But I could never leave Nan who’d done a great job of stepping in and raising me. I thought of how my life would’ve been so different if my mother had lived. For starters, I wouldn’t have had to carry around the burden of her death. I slammed the door in my mind on what might have been before it took me to a place I didn’t want to visit.

When we arrived at Farr Island, I headed straight to the resort. The receptionist was on the phone. His name tag read Ollie and his hair was shaved at the sides, leaving the top spiked and gelled. He looked a lot like Billy, the cockatoo, when he was angry.

I waited while Ollie finished the call and used two fingers to type something on the computer. When he’d finished, he looked up. ‘Can I help you?’ His voice was slow and lazy, not in too much of a hurry.

‘I’m checking in. Andrea Yates.’

Ollie went through the necessary paperwork before grabbing a map from under the counter and slapping it down in front of me. ‘Your bungalow is here.’ He marked it with a cross and gave me a worn-out smile.

I rolled my suitcase to my bungalow on the beach. The decor was shabby chic meets beach hut, but at least it was clean and air-conditioned. I slid open the glass door and stepped onto the deck. Palm trees, beach, ocean. Too bad I was here to work.

Locking the front door, I set off to explore the resort and to track down anyone who remembered Summer … or my mother and Rod Jeffries.

I followed the shrieks of laughter to the pool. Most of the lounge chairs were empty but the one nearest the path was occupied by a woman I’d put at around sixty. Her eyes were hidden by an enormous pair of seventies-style sunglasses. I stopped beside her. ‘How’s the water?’

‘Once you get in, it’s fine. Hope you’ve brought your swimmers.’

‘I have, but I want to do some exploring first.’

‘Good idea. There are lots of hidden beaches where you can get some privacy and quiet.’ She tutted loudly as the children screamed ‘Marco Polo.’

‘I’m Lorraine.

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