Southern Sunset: Book One of 44 South Read online

  Southern Sunset

  Book One of 44 South

  Nicola Claire

  Contents

  About the Author

  Free Download

  Also by Nicola Claire

  Description

  1. No Gumboots

  2. She Smiled

  3. Twizel Time

  4. You Shut Up

  5. Twizel, A Hotbed For Scandal

  6. What Aren’t You Telling Me?

  7. Thought You’d Never Ask

  8. Bloody Hell, Shoot Me Now

  9. Last Night

  10. Sometimes Life Was Fucking Hard

  11. What Did Southern Farmers Find Sexy, Anyway?

  12. Didn’t Breathe For Long Seconds

  13. I Was In So Much Trouble

  14. And I Still Craved To Make That Smile Mine

  15. No Pet Names

  16. Depends

  17. Tough Love

  18. Murder Was A Flash In The Pan Compared To All Of That

  19. Tonight

  20. Everyone In Twizel’s Got A History

  21. And Art Is To Be Shared

  22. Step Back, Please

  23. That Explained A Lot

  24. Fuck!

  25. I Had A Very Bad Feeling About All Of This

  26. Bad Fucking Timing

  27. I’m Here For Matt Drake

  28. Maggie Was Magnificent When Riled

  29. This Was Twizel

  30. Could My Life Get Anymore Complicated?

  31. This Time, It Was Full Of Meaning

  32. It All Matters In The End

  33. Damn, But The Man Did Have A Point

  34. You Can’t Possibly Miss It

  35. I’ve Got You

  36. I Didn’t Have An Adequate Answer

  37. Bloody JAFAs

  38. We Just Didn’t Have A Name

  39. And The Ghost Of Missy Drake

  40. It’s Maggie

  41. That’s When I Started Panicking

  42. What Aren’t You Telling Me?

  43. Slightly Bonkers And Growing On Me

  44. How Do You Know?

  45. Words Failed Me

  46. I’ve Seen This

  47. And Red Tussock Utes

  48. We’ll Do That

  49. Do You Really Want To Toy With Me Again?

  50. Who Else Would I Contact?

  51. Thanks

  52. Copy

  53. We’re Here If You Need Us

  54. What’s Wrong?

  55. Not Yet

  56. I Needed My Heart To Stop Bleeding

  57. Just The Beating Of My Heart Inside My Chest

  58. But Matt Wasn’t Far Behind

  59. Just Don’t Die, Maggie

  60. Son Of A Bitch

  61. Yes It Does

  62. We Were So Fucking Screwed

  63. For A Second There Was Silence

  64. How Much?

  Epilogue

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  Copyright © 2016, Nicola Claire

  All Rights Reserved

  * * *

  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, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  Created with Vellum

  About the Author

  Nicola Claire lives in beautiful Taupo, New Zealand with her husband and two young boys.

  She's tried her hand at being a paramedic, bank teller and medical sales representative, (not all necessarily in that order), but her love of writing keeps calling her back.

  She has a passion for all things suspenseful, spiced up with a good dollop of romance, as long as they include strong characters - alpha males and capable females - and worlds which although make-believe are really quite believable in the end.

  There's nothing better than getting caught up in a compelling, intriguing and romantic book.

  When she's not writing or reading, she's out on her family boat at Lake Taupo, teaching her young boys to fish, showing them the beauty that surrounds them in nature and catching some delicious trout for dinner.

  Creating rich worlds with dynamic characters and unexpected twists that shock and awe has been pure bliss for this author. And just as well, because there's a lot more story yet to tell...

  For more information:

  @NicolaClaireNZ

  168567699926093

  www.nicolaclairebooks.com

  [email protected]

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  Get your free copy of Nicola Claire’s Starter Library!

  Three free books to get you started!

  * * *

  Starter Library

  Also by Nicola Claire

  Kindred Series

  * * *

  Kindred

  Blood Life Seeker

  Forbidden Drink

  Giver of Light

  Dancing Dragon

  Shadow's Light

  Entwined With The Dark

  Kiss Of The Dragon

  Dreaming Of A Blood Red Christmas (Novella)

  Mixed Blessing Mystery Series

  Mixed Blessing

  Dark Shadow (Coming Soon)

  Sweet Seduction Series

  Sweet Seduction Sacrifice

  Sweet Seduction Serenade

  Sweet Seduction Shadow

  Sweet Seduction Surrender

  Sweet Seduction Shield

  Sweet Seduction Sabotage

  Sweet Seduction Stripped

  Sweet Seduction Secrets

  Sweet Seduction Sayonara

  Elemental Awakening Series

  The Tempting Touch Of Fire

  The Soothing Scent Of Earth

  The Chilling Change Of Air

  The Tantalising Taste Of Water (Coming Soon)

  H.E.A.T. Series

  A Flare Of Heat

  A Touch Of Heat

  A Twist Of Heat (Novella)

  A Lick Of Heat (Coming Soon)

  Citizen Saga

  Elite

  Cardinal

  Citizen

  Masked (Novella)

  Wiped

  Scarlet Suffragette Series

  Fearless

  Breathless (Coming Soon)

  Blood Enchanted Series

  Blood Enchanted

  Blood Entwined (Coming Soon)

  44 South Series

  * * *

  Southern Sunset

  Southern Storm (Coming Soon)

  ***

  * * *

  Lost Time Series

  * * *

  Losing Time (Coming Soon)

  Description

  I stared out at the majestic vista before me and thought, if God lived anywhere, it'd be here. And then I looked down at the dead body at my feet.

  Murder.

  Mystery.

  Quirky townspeople?

  There’s something strange about Twizel. Maggie Blackmore didn’t come to this sleepy hollow for a mystery, but she sure as heck found one. Being an Aucklander in the South Island doesn’t help either. If they’re not calling her a JAFA (Just Another F**king Aucklander) then they’re telling her to slow down. Twizel Time is real and Maggie has to learn to roll with it.

  As if that’s not enough, then there’s the farmers.

  Rugged.

  Demanding.

  Got a thing for pony t
ails?

  Just what the hell Luke Drake is up to is anyone’s guess. But when the station manager of Red Tussock takes an interest in the new girl in town, there’s no stopping him. And Maggie’s not sure that she wants to. But rules are rules and murder complicates matters. Being the only cop in town who can investigate the growing number of crimes puts Maggie in an even deeper quagmire.

  And that’s not even considering the past that comes back to haunt her.

  This sleepy hollow has just woken up and Twizel doesn’t care if you were born here or born to live here. Sooner or later your secrets will come out.

  * * *

  ***This is the first book in the 44 South Series: 44° South of the Equator where things can get a little strange.***

  For:

  My cousins, some of whose names I have borrowed on occasion in my stories.

  Chapter 1

  No Gumboots

  Maggie

  I stared out at the majestic vista before me and thought, if God lived anywhere, it'd be here. And then I looked down at the dead body at my feet.

  “Not a local,” Mac said from beside me. His hands shoved deep into his uniform pockets, huffs of frosty air puffing before his lips. His jaw cracked as he chewed his nicotine gum.

  I crouched down and took a closer look at the victim.

  “What makes you say that?” I asked, still trying to work the senior constable out. He didn’t have his shadow today. I wasn’t sure if that was intentional or just damn good luck on the recruit’s part.

  “He’s wearing town shoes,” Mac said with a grunt.

  I flicked my eyes down to the polished, but slightly mud stained, leather shoes and then glanced at the work boots Mac was wearing. Not standard New Zealand Police issue. But there appeared to be very little standard about Twizel.

  “Maybe he kept gumboots in his car,” I offered, looking out over the brown pasture toward the state highway and the band of trees which had hidden the body from passersby.

  “Maybe,” Mac said dismissively.

  I suppressed the sigh that wanted out and used a pen to lift up the victim’s jacket. He wore a decent enough outer layer; it wouldn’t have kept him warm at this time of year, but was good enough for quick trips out of a vehicle when needed.

  What was he doing this far from the township? And where was his bloody car?

  “Don’t have to do that,” Mac said.

  “What?” I queried, checking the vic’s trouser pockets in much the same way.

  “No forensics here, Sergeant. This ain’t TV.”

  I gritted my teeth and stared up at him.

  “And what about compromising evidence?” I demanded.

  He just shrugged his shoulders. “You’ll find Twizel’s a bit different from the big smoke.”

  I couldn't argue with him there. So far Twizel had been nothing but a mystery. Just as well I was good at solving them.

  “Well, Senior Constable,” I said, using my best don’t-fuck-with-me voice, “we’re not going to compromise the evidence at this scene. Grab some gloves and check for signs of a battle.”

  Mac crouched down opposite me and lifted up the victim’s arm, examining the fingernails in the bright sunlight. He was wearing mirrored shades over his eyes. A slight improvement on seeing the hard stare he subjected everyone to; especially his probationary constable. But he was not wearing gloves.

  “Do you even have gloves?” I asked.

  “Don’t need ‘em.”

  “Here,” I growled, fishing out a spare pair from my pocket. “Put these on.”

  He stared at my hand as it hung over the body; I could just imagine the look in his eyes as he digested my order. But all I saw was the blue disposable gloves reflected in his sunglasses.

  “Constable?” I pressed.

  He snatched the offending articles up and struggled to shove his thick fingers into the first one. Clearly gloves weren’t standard issue either in Twizel.

  I returned my attention to the victim. Male. Late forties, at a guess. No obvious cause of death, but we hadn’t yet rolled him. I fished my cell phone out of my jacket pocket and started taking photographs. Even I knew there was no crime scene team to call in Twizel.

  “No scratches,” Mac advised, fishing around in the back pocket of the vic’s trousers. “No wallet either.”

  “So, Joe Bloggs, then,” I said with a sigh. “He’s got callouses on his hands,” I observed. “Not just a pretty town boy.”

  “Plenty of townies own a hammer,” Mac declared.

  “But not gumboots?”

  He smiled. Mac could almost look handsome when he smiled. He was a big man. Imposing. Wore a chip the size of Canterbury on his shoulders. Hated Aucklanders with a vengeance. Hell, if you didn’t come from the South Island you might as well fuck off, as far as he went.

  Of course, it didn’t help that he’d failed his sergeant’s test and was subsequently overlooked when the last one retired.

  And was replaced by an Aucklander.

  I stared at his face for a moment longer; assessing his level of disgruntlement right now. He wasn’t going to like my next suggestion.

  “Give Doc Harding a call, will you? Let’s see what he has to say about this.”

  “Doc won’t come out here,” Mac immediately replied.

  “He is the on-call medical examiner, isn’t he?”

  “He’ll be up at the Drake homestead.”

  “The Senior Sergeant’s place? That can’t be too far from here, can it?” I glanced around, but having only been in Twizel for a short time, I hadn’t got my bearings completely. I knew town was south-east of here. Lake Pukaki north-east and Lake Ohau west. That would make us…

  “Shit, this is Red Tussock Station land, isn’t it?”

  Mac huffed out an amused breath. “Of course it is. Red Tussock owns this side of Twizel.”

  Fuck. I ran a hand through my hair and took a step back from the body. Staring down at it, I began to see things a little differently. This wasn’t just a dead body on the side of a public road. This wasn’t even a dead body on some nondescript person’s land.

  This was a dead body on the senior sergeant of Twizel Police Station’s farm. On my new boss’s property. Shit just got complicated.

  “All right,” I said, straightening myself up. “Call in Doc Harding. Get him out here any way you can.”

  Mac sighed. As if dealing with a dead body was so damn inconvenient. Or maybe it was dealing with the town’s drunk GP that irked him.

  “I’ll probably have to go fetch him, then,” he said.

  “Do that,” I agreed, swiping my own phone and entering the number for Senior Sergeant Drake. “I’ll let the boss know.”

  A meaty hand came down on top of mine, preventing me from connecting the call.

  “Not a good idea, Sergeant,” Mac drawled.

  I frowned up at him. “How can it not be a good idea? This is a dead body.” I indicated the male at our feet. “On his land.” I nodded to the pastures behind us that went on for miles and miles and miles. “And he’s Senior Sergeant of Twizel Police.”

  “His little brother is getting married today.” Crap, I’d completely forgotten. “Red Tussock will be bursting at the seams with guests. He ain’t gonna thank you for interrupting the proceedings. Give it ’til this evening, when it’ll all be over and the whisky will be flowing. I’ll get Doc Harding out of there without raising the alarm. We’ll tidy this up and then let the boss know, OK?”

  Sometimes Mac surprised me. In the short amount of time I’d known him, I found that rather amusing. Outward appearances were deceptive. First impressions not entirely favourable. The man was a bristly son-of-a-bitch who didn’t take kindly to outsiders.

  But more than once now, he’d shown me he had a brain behind those hard eyes.

  “OK,” I acquiesced. “Get the Doc.”

  Mac nodded his head but didn’t add anything further, turning and walking back to where we’d left our cars. It rankled that I’d h
ad to back down. It showed weakness that I was certain he’d take advantage of in the future. But nothing had been straight forward since I got here.

  Not the town.

  Not the people.

  And certainly not the Twizel Police Station staff.

  I sighed and crouched down beside the deceased. I wasn’t sure why I kept wanting to call him a victim. Maybe the fact that there was no parked car nearby from which he could have stumbled out of. If his death was caused by a medical event, such as a heart attack or low blood sugar, then shouldn’t he have come from somewhere?

  I glanced back toward the pasture, then along the line of trees that bordered the field we were on. There were no signs to indicate it was Red Tussock land, but also no reason for the man to be here.

  Whatever had happened to lead up to this man’s death, the mere absence of a vehicle spoke volumes.

  He’d been placed here.

  I stood up and started surveying the ground. Mac had been called here first. His boot prints in the frosted grass hindered my investigation. I was going to have to retrain the entire station staff. This lack of respect for a crime scene was irritating. Had SS Drake really let things go this far?

  There was a second set of prints, smaller in size, next to those of a dog’s. The early morning commuter who’d let his dog out of his car so it could go poop in the small band of trees bordering the road. The dog had found more than just a tree to pee against.