Notes: So sorry about the delay on this chapter – my life got in the way!
You may wish to re-read the end of chapter 3 to refresh your memory - as this chapter picks up right where the last left off!
Thanks to Mel for the Beta! It's always amusing when we come across a word that I didn't know was spelt differently in the US. Yes, pyjama is a word lol!
Disclaimer in part 1.
Anyway, I do hope it was worth the wait…*nervously bites nails*...
Pleasurewood Pines – Chapter 4
"I don't think that I'll ever get used to this heat," Fenella Cartwright – a retired English play-write and four year resident of Pleasurewood Pines - fanned herself with a piece of paper she had arrived holding. "Coming here on holiday is one thing, but living in this wretched heat is another. You're from New York right, Ellen? Don't you find this weather incredibly stifling?"
"We lived in Florida for a spell and the humidity there played havoc with my hair," Sharon led her new neighbour into the house, whilst Provenza entertained Nigel Cartwright on the porch. "So this is a preferred heat."
"Right," Fenella responded absently, seemingly distracted by the vibrancy of the Moreau's furnishings. "My, Ellen! Have you really only been moved in a few hours? You've unpacked already!"
"We used very efficient movers," The Captain opened a kitchen cupboard and took out four tall glasses.
"I can see," Fenella nodded in agreement as she gazed around the living space in awe. "This place already looks so...so..."
"Organised?"
"Colourful," Fenella finished her sentence with a wry smile and Sharon hummed contemplatively; from the way she dressed, the play-write appeared to favour a more classic style than Ellen Moreau. At least the Captain now knew that Fenella spoke her mind – a trait that could prove quite useful during the course of their investigation.
"I just love colour, don't you?" Sharon opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher that she had already prepared for expected visitors. "It can really set the mood of a room, iced-tea okay?"
"Anything cold and wet please; I'm gasping." Fenella took a seat at the counter as Sharon placed the pitcher and four glasses on a tray. "I suppose this place needed a little cheering up, after what happened with last resident..."
"Mr Roberts, right?" Sharon frowned as she placed ice into each of the glasses. "He passed?"
"It's like a conveyor belt here, Ellen," Fenella shrugged. "A person moves in, they play a little golf, shuffle off of this mortal-coil – and the cycle begins again."
"Well, they didn't put that in the brochure." Sharon dead-panned, using a statement uttered by Provenza earlier that morning. It seemed to be well received as Fenella released a laugh and shook her head; her well lacquered, blonde bob didn't so much as sway with the movement.
"You're funny," Fenella tilted her head, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "We could use funny – it's been a terrible bore of late."
"Are you a close community?" Sharon asked as she took hold of the tray and started to head out to the porch to rescue Provenza – concerned that he may have already gotten himself into trouble.
"Well, everybody knows everybody – if that's what you mean." Fenella followed closely behind. "There are a few couples that we spend most of our time with...As a matter of fact we came over to invite you both for dinner tomorrow night."
"Oh, that sound's lovely." Sharon lay the tray down on a small wooden table and handed out the drinks. "Isn't that nice, Bob?"
"Sound's great." Provenza shared a glance with Sharon, as he sipped his iced-tea.
"You can get to meet the troops, so to speak," Fenella continued. "We like our new residents to feel welcome."
"You like to interrogate them, you mean." Nigel muttered as he brought the iced-tea to his lips.
"Not at all," Fenella spoke through a fixed smile, although she was clearly incensed by her husbands off-the-cuff comment. "You know that I always like to invite the new arrivals around to welcome them to the community."
"Of course you do, my darling," Nigel's tone dripped with sarcasm. To Sharon, his demeanour and ultra-casual appearance lacked signs of any inclination that he wanted to meet his new neighbours, or make a good first impression; he and Fenella were quite the contrast.
"Speaking of troops," Provenza interrupted in an effort to alleviate the tension festering between the couple. "Nigel here was just telling me that the previous tenant was a decorated soldier from the second world war."
"Oh," Sharon played along."Is that right?"
"That's right," Nigel seemed to perk up at the mention of the recently deceased. "Geoffrey was a member of 66th Infantry division – he spent time in Northern France."
"Did you know him well, Nigel?" Sharon asked.
"He hadn't been here very long - but I used to sit with him sometimes; he'd tell me stories." Nigel gazed wistfully at the swinging bench where Provenza had sat moments earlier. "His mind was starting to deteriorate – but he could still tell a bloody good story."
"He mostly kept to himself," Fenella joined the conversation, fanning herself with the piece of paper again. "Well, apart from Roberta next door," she nodded her head in the direction of the villa next to theirs. "...And that wasn't really his choice."
"I think I may have seen Roberta earlier," Provenza's eyes narrowed.
"Peeking out through her curtains?"
"A past time of hers, is it?"
"Well, you could say that," Fenella took a sip of her drink. "She's nuttier than a fruitcake, that one."
"In what way?" Sharon asked.
"She's a religious nut from...Louisiana?" Fenella looked to her husband to confirm.
"That's right," Nigel confirmed. "Her husband was some kind of faith healer – claimed he could cure people of disease; a load of old cods-wallop if you ask me."
"Does her husband live here too?"
"Oh, no", Fenella answered. "The authorities caught up with him a long time ago – he died prison, I think."
"So how does she afford to live in a place like this?" Provenza frowned.
"Roberta's son pays. I'm not sure how he got his money – but he seemed very well-to-do when we met him," Fenella placed her glass back on the tray. "Nothing like his mother, that's for sure."
"We were led to believe that there was some kind of vetting process to become a resident here?" Sharon asked.
"There is now; back when Roberta moved in, they'd just accept any riff-raff that could afford the price tag."
Sharon and Provenza glanced at each other over their drinks, before the Lieutenant pressed on. "So does everybody have a say in who gets to live here? Or do you have to be on some kind of committee?"
"A committee of course – it's all very above board, Bob." Fenella explained. "I actually chair the meetings – and I suggest you get yourselves involved too. I'm sure you'd rather live out your final days in the company of those of sane mind – not those who talk to the dead."
"Talking to the dead?" Provenza asked. "Like a clairvoyant?"
"A bit of an exaggeration, Fenella." Nigel corrected his wife. "Roberta was just convinced that this villa still belonged to Clara..."
"Clara Goldstein; the lady that lived here before Geoffrey," Fenella cut in.
"She and Roberta were friends, if I recall." Nigel continued. "When Geoffrey moved in, Roberta would knock on his door and ask to speak to Clara. She kept saying that she had seen her through the window and that Geoffrey was hiding her."
"Clara passed here too?" Sharon enquired.
"Yes," Nigel nodded. "Not that there's anything unusual in that," he shrugged. "There are just two ways people leave Pleasurewood Pines my dear Ellen – that's either in an ambulance or a body bag."
"But there's a lot of fun to be had in-between," Fenella quickly added; sensing their 'welcoming party' had taken a solemn turn.
"Something to look forward to then." Sharon muttered as she eyed Roberta's house suspiciously; an uneasy feeling settling over her.
xXx
"Earth calling Lieutenant Provenza," Sharon returned to the living room after calling Rusty, to find her colleague staring into space; he was sitting at the head of the dining table, case files haphazardly strewn across the wooden surface. "Are you okay?"
They had been going over the case since the Cartwright's left; befriending the community busy-body was already proving fruitful to their investigation. The piece of paper Fenella had arrived fanning herself with, had turned out to be a list of all of the other residents at Pleasurewood, their villa number and a snippet of information about each of them.
There were an eclectic bunch; plastic surgeons, actors, dentists and botanist to name a few. Based on their professions, at least 10 of them could harbour the medical knowledge required to have murdered the victims – including Dr Nigel Cartwright.
"Yeah, I'm just thinking about what Nigel said," Provenza got to his feet and went to the sink to fill up his glass with water.
"Which bit?" Sharon asked as she placed the plates from their working-dinner into the dishwasher.
"The bit about only leaving Pleasurewood in an ambulance or a body bag."
"Oh, that." Sharon wiped her hands on a tea-towel and leant against the kitchen counter. "Fenella said something similar to me," she frowned. "They've both got a rather bleak outlook on retirement, for a couple that seem to be high-standing members of this community."
"Maybe they know something's afoot," Provenza gathered the files from the table. "Fenella said they were involved in the resident selection process; maybe this whole thing links back to that."
"It's a possibility..." Sharon frowned, folding her arms over her chest. "I'll go see Roberta next door first thing tomorrow morning – see if I can learn more about Geoffrey and Clara. If you can run that list from Fenella past Mike – get him to research the names we highlighted on the list."
"Sounds like a plan." Provenza responded through a yawn. "I'm beat - I'm off to bed."
"Some light bedtime reading?" Sharon nodded to the case files under Provenza's arm.
"Helps me sleep," he responded with a shrug.
"I'm sure," Sharon rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the dishwasher. "Good night, Bob," she called after him – a smirk touching her lips.
"Goodnight, dear." Provenza responded with an equal dose of sarcasm.
xXx
Sharon awoke with a start; her heart was pounding in her chest as she sat bolt upright, gasping for air.
The room was dark, only moonlight filtered through the slat-blinds that adorned the windows – sending a striped pattern across her bed; her surroundings being unfamiliar, it took her a few moments to remember where she was.
The red lights of her alarm clock read 03:12.
Sharon flopped back against the pillows and sighed – wondering what had awoken her so dramatically. She lay still for a few beats, listening for any movement in or outside the property – but her ears were only met with silence.
She rolled onto her side and a light pressure in her bladder made it's presence be known. With a groan, she kicked off the covers, swung her legs off of the bed and picked up her glasses from the bedside table.
The tiled floor was cool under her feet as she padded across the bedroom and after adjusting her grey silk pyjamas to ensure she was decent – she opened the door to the hallway. She and Provenza had drawn straws for the bedroom with an en-suite – unfortunately for Sharon, the Lieutenant had lucked out.
The hallway was darker than her bedroom; Sharon fumbled on the wall for a short time before she located the light switch. The spotlights above blinked into action and she adjusted her eyes to the brightness, before crossing the hall to the bathroom which was directly opposite.
Despite awakening after only four hours of sleep, Sharon actually felt quite rested. The villa was very comfortable – there were certainly worst places they could be undercover. With Andy and Julio arriving in just a few hours – and the help of Fenella's list, they should be able to scope out the key suspects before the Cartwright's dinner party.
'So far, so good,' Sharon thought sleepily to herself, as she flushed the toilet and washed her hands.
With a yawn, she simultaneously opened the bathroom door and pulled the cord light switch – unexpectedly plunging her self into darkness.
The Captain froze.
'I left the hall light on...'
Her heart rate quickened as she scrambled for the pull cord and turned the bathroom light back on.
"What the…?"
On the floor, in the centre of the corridor, lay the envelope that had been given to her by the General Manager when they arrived at Pleasurewood Pines; it's contents now strewn along the hallway – leading to the living space.
"Hello?" Sharon called out into the darkness. "Is there somebody there?"
Motion detectors had been rigged around the villa – triggering camera footage that had a live feed to her detectives parked down the road in a van. If their lives were in danger, her team were to call her cell phone; surley, Sharon thought, the camera's couldn't have missed whoever did this...
Unless they came from inside her bedroom…
Along with the bathrooms, the bedrooms were the only places without a camera.
She squinted as she peered down the hallway to the darkened living area, then across to her open bedroom door – where her glock 22 sat on the dresser.
After drawing a deep breath and with lightening speed, Sharon crossed the hallway to her bedroom. Grabbing her gun from the dresser, she pressed her back to the wall and surveyed the room.
Although everything seemed undisturbed, she swept around the bed, checking underneath it on her way to the closet – the door to which was open just a crack.
She opened it quickly, pushing the clothes aside until she was satisfied that the room was clear.
Turning her attention to the rest of the house, Sharon edged towards the living area - side stepping the contents of the envelope on the floor. She held her gun out in front of her – her heart felt like it was in her throat.
The very second that Sharon flipped the switch to the living area – the doorbell rang out.
Startled, the Captain spun to face the noise and with her heart pounding in her ears, she moved swiftly towards the front door and peered through the peep-hole.
Sharon sighed with relief; with the gun behind her back – she opened the front door.
"Kenneth?" Sharon greeted the General Manager with a puzzled expression on her face. "Why are you ringing our doorbell at this time?"
"I'm so very sorry to disturb you on your first night Mrs Moreau," the manager said remorsefully. "But the police wouldn't let it wait until morning."
"Police?" Sharon looked beyond Kenneth to see Detective Sykes standing by her car. Beyond the detective, she saw Kendall and his team entering Roberta's property, carrying plastic cases containing crime scene equipment.
"What the hell has happened?" Sharon asked, fearing she already knew the answer.
"I'm afraid your neighbour Mrs Swallow, had an accident earlier today..."
"An accident?" Sharon asked. "Then why are the police here?"
"Ma'am," Amy came forward her badge held high, side stepping the manager. "Can I come inside?"
"Of course," Sharon moved aside and let Amy enter the villa - before closing the door on Kenneth and the chaos of the new crime scene.
TBC
Oh yeah, forgot to tell you...this story is going to be a bit spooky in places :)
Thanks for reading!