A Twist in the Tail Read online

  A Twist in the Tail

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Trinket Bay Series | Book Three

  D. D. Line

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter | Twenty-One

  Chapter | Twenty-Two

  Chapter | Twenty-Three

  Chapter | Twenty-four

  Chapter | Twenty-Five

  Chapter | Twenty-Six

  Chapter | Twenty-Seven

  Chapter | Twenty-Eight

  Find out where it all began in Book One of the Trinket Bay Series

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Trinket Bay Series

  Book Three

  D. D. Line

  Perth, Western Australia

  Copyright © 2022 D. D. Line

  First published by Gumnut Press

  Edited by Nas Dean (http://www.nasdean.com)

  Cover design by Victoria Cooper (https://thebookcoverdesigner.com/designers/victoria-cooper-art)

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or any other device now known or invented hereafter without permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organisations is entirely coincidental.

  These forms include, but are not limited to xerography, photocopy, scanning, recording, distributing via internet means, informational storage and retrieval system.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-publication data:

  An Ear to the Ground/Gumnut Press

  ISBN: (sc) 978-0-6453998-0-6

  ISBN: (e) 978-0-6453998-1-3

  Romance-Suspense

  Gumnut Press books may be ordered through online booksellers or by contacting Gumnut Press.

  [email protected]

  Dedication

  In memory of (former) Sergeant Anthony Cuming.

  Thank you, to my writing tribe, for your advice and support. And thank you to my family for your ongoing love.

  Chapter One

  The clatter of metal across ceramic sent a shiver down her back. Ash paused in her typing and surveyed the people in the cafeteria across from the admissions desk. Sterile bitterness mixed with coffee, cake, and the never-fading stench of antiseptic reminded her she was working in a hospital, not sitting back and enjoying a beach-view meal. Not that she was in the mood for such a thing. Not when duty called.

  A low whine and a nudge against her shoe made her stare into the whiskey-brown eyes of her faithful companion and canine service dog, Goose.

  “I know, boy. Paperwork and note-taking is boring.”

  She scratched behind his ear. His eyes glazed over, his tongue hanging out to add to his goofy expression before his serious look returned. Ash resumed her task. Goose huffed but edged closer and rested his head on her knee.

  “Now, that’s not fair. No looking cute. We have a job to do.” She tapped the clear plastic bag beside her laptop. “Once we trace these amphetamines to the dealer and find the connection to the deceased, then maybe we can put another thug in jail where they belong.”

  Ash sighed. The deceased couldn’t have been much more than twenty years old.

  Goose snuffled as though to remind her he was still there. She gave his ear a gentle tug, the velvety softness between her fingers a source of comfort. Then she retrieved the bag and stared at its contents.

  The tablets themselves were innocuous enough. Small, off-white, and round, they looked like those artificial sweeteners some people preferred instead of natural sugars. The effects of the drugs, however, were anything but sweet.

  At her feet, Goose stood, hackles raised, staring away from the admissions desk and the hospital exit beyond. Ash dropped the plastic bag like it burned her. She looked around, noticed nothing unusual, and then back at the dog. She followed his gaze to where an unkempt, suspicious looking man walked with purpose away from the furthest of the two lifts. Goose’s nostrils flared and his body quivered. Ash stood.

  “Good boy,” she said. “Stay.”

  She slid a hand across to where her gun rested in its holster, then remembered she wasn’t in uniform. She’d left those for the wash after her first shift at the police station last night. It might give her an advantage, though. He was less likely to run if she approached him as another member of the public.

  She wrenched her long-sleeved shirt from her jeans, clutching handfuls of the material and scrunching it so it wrinkled. Then she pulled the elastic band from her hair and ran her fingers through the thick tendrils to make it as messy as possible. She contemplated the foam of her mocha with its cocoa topping, then she smeared chocolate powder across one cheek in hopes it passed for a streak of dirt.

  “Hey there,” she said when she neared him. “Everything all right?”

  She kept her voice steady, non-threatening. Her heart picked up speed, but Ash’s outward demeanour remained calm, professional, her control and training kicking in. Behind her, Goose gave a low growl. Ash didn’t look behind her to see if he moved. She knew the Belgian Shepherd remained by the table. By the man’s non-reaction, he hadn’t heard or noticed Goose.

  “Hello,” she said, noting the way the man’s vision shifted between her and the car park beyond where freedom beckoned. “I asked if you were all right. You looked worried.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  He avoided her gaze. Ash’s nose wrinkled at his unpleasant body odour.

  “Just visiting a friend on the ward.” His slow speech was at odds with the speed at which he observed his surroundings.

  “Yeah? I hope they feel better soon. What happened to your friend?” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, stared at the floor for a few seconds, then looked up at him through her lashes.

  “Um, ah.” Another glance at the doors, then he stood a little straighter, and looked at her. “That’s none of your business, lady. I don’t have to tell you nothing.”

  Yep, should have worn your uniform or at least brought your badge with you.

  “No, you don’t have to.” She crossed her arms and hunched a little. “But we’re just chatting, aren’t we? I’m new in town. It would be nice to make a friend.” She gave him a lazy grin and scratched at the crook of her elbow through her shirt.

  He noticed her movement, grinned, stopped looking for an escape, and stepped closer.

  “Yeah, yeah, a friend. I can do that. Happy to show you around. I know all the good spots.” He licked his lips, let his gaze travel the length of her body, paused at her breasts, and leered. “Maybe you’d like a special friend.”

  “A special friend. I like the sound of that.” She sidled closer, wrinkling her nose in a way she hoped looked cute, and not like she was desperate to avoid inhaling his rancid scent. Like he belonged in the morgue, too. She reached to scratch her arm a
gain. “Did you want to go somewhere? If you’ve finished visiting your friend, that is.” She huffed. “I’ve been waiting ages to see someone here to get some help. Their services are a joke.” Ash jerked her head back toward the admissions desk, edging her body between him and where Goose waited. “Got sick of sitting in their stupid waiting room. Been drinking crappy coffee and people-watching.”

  He grinned again and puffed out his chest. “And then you spotted me, huh?”

  Ugh! “First thing worth looking at all day.”

  A lift opened behind her, the soft ding announcing its arrival. The man looked up, his eyes widening in apprehension, but his jaw setting in anger. He swore and grabbed Ash by her throat, his grip tightening as though he meant to toss her out of the way. Ash spread her feet to distribute her body weight. In one smooth movement, she clamped her fingers around his wrist, her intention to spin him around and force his arm behind him to rest between his shoulder blades. Again, she berated the lack of handcuffs. Footsteps behind her told her someone was closing in fast.

  “Pig!” her ‘prisoner’ screeched in warning to whoever approached.

  Hands grasped her shoulders, pulling Ash backward. She bent her arm and shoved her elbow into the unknown assailant’s chest. Her forearm rose, the back of her fist connecting with a pointed chin. Her tenuous grip on the first man faltered.

  “Goose!” she yelled as she regained her hold on his wrist.

  At the shout of his name, the Belgian Shepherd rushed forward, and the second man took off, screaming. He leapt over a rubbish bin, scattered cafeteria tables and chairs, almost bowled into some visitors, and raced toward the exit with Goose closing in fast. The lift doors pinged for a third time and Ash swore. If another drugged-up delinquent walked out those doors, she’d scream. She needed more backup, fast. A shame she’d left her cell phone in her backpack, which was still on the table. A rookie mistake she shouldn’t have made. Then, like a miracle, in her peripheral vision she spied navy-clad legs, lean hips, and a dark tactical vest over a light blue shirt. Whoever was moving toward her now was a police officer.

  Her racing heartbeat slowed, knowing aid was within reach. Then everything went to hell.

  Jacobs, an older man who she’d learned volunteered here as a security guard, rushed from his position near the admissions desk toward the second man, who knocked him down. Jacobs fell like a professional footballer tackled him, and he landed spread-eagled on the floor. Some nurses rushed to help him while a smartly dressed man, a laptop under his arm, headed for the nearest lift.

  There was a crack as Ash’s new friend twisted away from her grasp. The man screamed in pain from the hold she’d placed on him, and Ash guessed he’d broken at least two of his fingers. She shoved him back against the wall. His companion reached the exit and raced outside, screeching as Goose followed. About to identify herself as a police officer, another hand clamped down on her shoulder. Caught up in the moment, Ash didn’t think. She reacted. With a twist of her hips, she spun to connect one small fist into a rock-hard stomach.

  Chapter Two

  First Class Constable Dermott McClane muffled the urge to swear as the physiotherapist helped him bend and stretch his leg. The exercises were more manageable now than the shooting eight months ago. Then there were days like today when everything hurt, and he dare not express himself the way he desired. It wasn’t the physiotherapist’s fault the medication the doctor gave him seemed less effective. It wasn’t the doctor’s either. Dermott sighed. It was his body that betrayed him by developing a tolerance for the medication meant to help him. Made him desperate for more.

  He closed his eyes to block the pain, but he couldn’t block her voice.

  “A few more of these stretches and you’ll be ready to dance your way out of here,” Becky said with way too much cheer. “I can’t believe the winter fundraiser dance is only a few weeks away.”

  Twin spots of heat warmed his cheeks. Dermott concentrated on his exercises.

  “I hope we raise a lot of money. It would be wonderful to have the same modern equipment the city hospitals do.”

  “Yes,” Dermott said, the word a pain-filled grunt while he breathed through the stretch.

  “Of course, I’m looking forward to the dance, too. Aren’t you?”

  Silence followed by another rush of air past gritted teeth.

  “It would be wonderful to have someone to dance with,” Becky said, reaching to help him back into his original position, her voice wistful.

  “Hadn’t really thought about it,” Dermott said when the silence lengthened.

  “Well, we’re done for the day, but I want you to repeat those stretches tonight. Make sure you have support. You still use your cane, right?”

  “Right.” Crap. That was abrupt, even for him. “Sorry. Yes, I still have it, but I’m trying to rely on it less.”

  “You might not need it at all by the dance.”

  “Maybe.” Dermott cleared his throat. “I’d better go. Duty calls.”

  “Of course. I’ll let you change back into your uniform. Oh.” She thrust a medication bottle into his hand. “Better not leave these behind.”

  Dermott stared after Becky’s retreating figure for a moment. Given how stiffly she walked, he concluded he’d upset her. She’d be waiting to greet her next patient, so he made a mental note to apologise at his next appointment. He pocketed the medication bottle. The hospital pharmacist filled his prescription before he arrived for his physio appointment. He’d left it on the chair along with his other possessions, making sure the gun stayed out of sight. He sighed, redressed, checked the gun’s safety switch was on, holstered it, and headed toward the lift doors. Moments later, he stepped out onto the ground floor and into bedlam.

  He could see the top half of the man’s face. Eyes red, gaze darting in all directions, complexion sallow and pasty, the exposed skin of his neck smeared with grime, Dermott understood that erratic look all too well. The man was on something, he just wasn’t sure what. The woman with her back to him, whose head barely reached his collarbone, didn’t look much better. Her clothes looked baggy, unwashed, and unironed. Shoes scuffed and dirty. Even her hair, knotted and flying in all directions, looked like she’d long forgotten its need for a hairbrush. It appeared they were in the middle of a domestic until he looked past them and spotted Jacobs on the ground.

  A retired army officer, hospital staff and locals alike found comfort in his presence, even though such a task wasn’t required. At least, not until today.

  Handcuffs emerged from Dermott’s tactical vest. Pain shot up his leg as he took a step forward. He gritted his teeth to counteract the sharp spike of agony the movement produced. His other hand loosened the strap from where his gun resided. He couldn’t see any weapons, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have them, and he wanted to be ready for the unexpected. That, and he didn’t want to panic the civilians further.

  Dermott caught Jacobs’ gaze when the man sat up, his dazed expression telling Dermott little about the situation. He signalled for him to stay still and quiet while he zeroed in on the still-struggling couple.

  The junkie wrenched his arm free from the woman’s grasp and aimed a punch at her face. His fist would have connected if she’d been a few seconds slower, but she evaded him. Over the din both were making, she drew back her arm, set to return the hit. Dermott put a firm hand on her shoulder, intending to alert her of his presence and identify himself. Her sharp turn and well-aimed punch caught them both off balance. He grabbed her upper arms, attempting to steady them, stumbled, and they crashed to the floor. A metallic flash of silver let him know he’d dropped his handcuffs in the fall. The woman muttered something, but he didn’t catch her words, just noted the sensation of her warm breath on his ear. Then she reached for his handcuffs the same time he did.

  Her fingers closed around them first, her elbow digging into his ribs as she retrieved them. That elbow dug deeper when she leaned in, placing her weight against him to push herself
to her feet. He stuck out his hand, his fingers missing the back of her shirt by millimetres.

  “Shit!”

  In the precious moments it took him to stand, the junkie was halfway to the glass doors. The woman, her sharp elbows tucked tight against her body, was close behind him.

  He wouldn’t draw his gun. Not yet. With so many people around, it wasn’t safe. His stiff jog brought him close enough to watch the junkie fling a small table behind himself, just missing the woman. A chair followed, catching her on her left shoulder when she turned away, protecting her face. The woman grunted in pain but kept going. Dermott figured she’d taken something too, considering how much the impact would have hurt.

  Jacobs chose that moment to stand.

  “Get out of the way,” the woman yelled, her tone authoritative.

  That would have surprised Dermott, only he was too busy failing at running.

  The junkie ran outside and disappeared from view.

  Jacobs grabbed the woman’s arm, the side the chair hit, and pulled her back. She spun around, handcuffs still in one hand, the other seeming to hurtle toward Jacobs’ unprotected face.

  And that’s when Dermott caught up.

  His hand engulfed hers as he shoved the startled man out of the way. He wrenched the handcuffs from her and slapped one cuff on to her dainty wrist. Then he proclaimed, “Trinket Bay Police. Miss, you’re under arrest.”

  Chapter Three

  “You have the right to remain silent,” Tall, Dark, and Stupid repeated when she opened her mouth again to protest.

  “You idiot! You’re letting them get away.” She fought to escape his hold while her suspect sprinted out of view. “You don’t understand. I’m a pol—”

  “And I suggest you do it,” he said, cutting her off as though he hadn’t heard a word she’d spoken.