Chapter 1
If you don’t know me from “Cemetery, Crimes and Crumpet”, the first book I featured in, then this is a refresher. (If you have read it, then bear with me while others catch up.)
My name is now Libitina Shelley Beech, but I have always gone by the name Shelley. My first name means ... wait for it, ‘Roman Goddess of Funerals and Death,’ and you ask why does she work in a cemetery? It was my destiny with a name like that.
I am not sure if my parents liked me or wanted me, so; I asked my mother why they called me Libitina Shelley Kelly.
“We liked the sound of it,” was her answer. My parents were good to me, despite their choice of name. My brother had it worse. They called him Richard Hedley Kelly and his nickname was “Dick Head”.
I married a man named Robert Holmes, may he rest in peace. We didn’t have any children and I am beyond that now.
Because my name was Shelley Holmes, my nickname became “Sherlock”. So, in keeping with the nickname, I named the stray black cat that graced my doorstep on Friday the 13th, “Watson”. This was my husband’s anniversary.
My other cat, Crumpet, was given to me a year or two after my husband died, to keep me company. She has pretty tortoise shell markings and loves to join me for breakfast, where she nibbles on a small piece of crumpet lathered in butter. Our morning ritual. I used to be a creature of habit, but that has changed to a degree over the last year.
I have been working at Perilgate Cemetery for over eight years now. It is a large cemetery with a crematorium in the city of Tymesup.
You would think it a depressing place to work, but it is quite the opposite. My fellow work mates have a wicked sense of humour. If you ignore the headstones, the office is in a serene location with trees, grass, and gardens. There is very little life in the cemetery except the occasional rabbit and plenty of birds. Speaking of flying, you won’t find me anywhere near the place after dark when the residents come out to play and do their Michael Jackson Thriller dance. I could handle Casper and his friendly ghosts, though.
Until last year I used to walk in my lunch break before I stumbled upon a string of dead bodies.
You might consider this a normal hazard of working in a cemetery, but usually the dead bodies that pass through here are in coffins or caskets with their cause of death already determined. This was not the types of bodies I stumbled across. The ones I encountered were of the freshly dead variety and in relatively good shape compared to the other residents.
After that I began walking around suburban streets. They are probably just as unsafe, but at least I haven’t encountered any dead bodies, which my husband and I are grateful for.
My current husband, Inspector Darryl Beech, and I, met nineteen years ago when he was a constable investigating my then husband’s death.
The constable accused me of conspiring to kill my husband which would have entailed me nimbly climbing a ladder up two stories to our rooftop and pushing him off. For starters, I have never done anything nimbly in my life and I am afraid of heights. On top of that, it was Friday the 13th so you wouldn’t find me anywhere near a ladder and my husband Robert Holmes should have avoided them too.
The constable re-entered my life as an Inspector investigating the murders I happened upon. At first he considered me a hindrance, but then he gained a new respect for my investigative skills while advising me not to investigate.
On Valentine’s Day this year he proposed, and I accepted. I didn’t think I wanted to marry again, but Darryl changed my mind.
“Have you got any ideas of where you want to get married, Shel?”
“How about a small park wedding by the river?”
“What about a date?”
“Is September too soon?” September gave him less time to reconsider.
Darryl invited a few friends and workmates. His son, Colin, was his best man and his daughter, Caroline, was my bridesmaid. I invited my two best friends, Jack and Gill, and some work colleagues and friends.
Gill and Caroline were with me on the morning of our wedding, and we were having a calming cup of tea, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. We went to a salon to have our makeup applied and our hair styled, then we returned home to dress for the wedding. Because I had been married before and was beyond wearing a white wedding dress, I found a beautiful cream suit with a fine overlay. It suited my more mature age.
“You look great.” Gill said as she hugged me and surveyed the finished product.
Caroline looked pretty in a light turquoise knee length dress with a matching wide-brimmed hat. She carried a bouquet of lavender and white flowers.
The day started out fresh and clear. When we arrived at the lush green park full of springtime flowers, the sun was making the water sparkle. Jack walked me down the aisle between the row of chairs, and Darryl looked stunning in a grey suit and tie. He took my hand and gazed into my eyes, making me feel at ease. The celebrant started the service; we said our vows, exchanged rings and were pronounced husband and wife. When we walked back past our guests, I was Mrs Libitina Shelley Beech.
We had a restaurant reception and returned to cheers, after photos by the river. Darryl slid my chair out for me to sit at the head table and took his place beside me. We were entertained by amusing speeches, ate a three-course meal, cut our wedding cake and danced the Bridal Waltz. Others joined us on the dance floor, and Jack cut in on my husband, who then danced with Caroline.
The night ended, and we made our way to our overnight accommodation.
“Did you have a good day, Shel?”
“It was wonderful, Darryl.”
“It’s not over yet.” Darryl traced his fingers lightly down my back as he undid the zipper of my dress. The next morning after breakfast, we made our way to the airport to catch a plane north the next day. Gill looked after my feline companions while Darryl and I honeymooned on the Sunshine Coast.
“I am afraid of heights, Darryl.”
“I made sure you have an aisle seat on the plane and our accommodation isn’t too high up. Just enough to see the ocean.”
When we arrived at our destination for a week’s stay, we caught the lift to level two. Darryl carried me over the threshold. He must have been practising lifting heavy weights.
The view of the expanse of blue ocean from the apartment was breathtaking, although I couldn’t walk out onto the balcony unless Darryl had me in a firm grip.
“See that is not so bad.”
“As long as I don’t look directly down.”
Complimentary Champagne sat on the table when we arrive in our room, and Darryl opened it and poured two glasses.
“Here’s to my beautiful wife.”
“To my handsome husband.” We clicked glasses and sipped the bubbly liquid.
Our days began with a stroll along the beach and a late breakfast in various beachfront cafes. We skipped lunch and went out to dinner at restaurants which were walking distance from where we were staying.
We enjoyed our meals and wine on outside terraces with the cool sea breeze ruffling our hair while we ate and enjoyed the city lights and ocean scents.
In the morning, the sun beat into the apartment, and the ocean sparkled.
“Let’s go for a swim.” Darryl suggested.
“I don’t know. Will the water be cold?”
“Probably, but it will be invigorating.”
I dressed in my costume and Darryl walked into the room and cast an appreciative eye over my skimpily glad body.
“You look great for your age, Shel.” He circled his arms around my waist and nuzzled my neck.
“Wait until my hair is wet from the sea water then you will think differently.”
I threw a sundress over my costume, and we took our towels down to the beach and walked towards the water’s edge.
“It is nippy,” I said as I took tentative steps into the incoming whitewash. Then I braved the deeper water as it engulfed my torso, introducing my body to its tingling icy tentacles.
Darryl surfaced after diving in. “It is beautiful.”
I was waist deep in the surf when a wave came rolled toward me. A decision needed to be made to duck or be pummelled, so I ducked. The water was warmer once I was fully submerged, and I resurfaced, only to duck again as a second wave in the set loomed. I was wiping salt out of my eyes when the third wave crested and curled, and I was swept away in a flurry of white, fluffy foam. When I surfaced, I was only knee deep in water.
We stayed in the surf until my fingers shrivelled. When we emerged from the surf, we dried ourselves and laid on the sand in the warm September sun, and applied sunscreen to each other’s backs to prevent sunburn. By the time we stood to leave, my hair had dried. After being in salt water, my hair frizzed out in an unruly mess, so I covered it with a sun hat. Once in our room again, I raced for the shower put myself back together again. When I resurfaced, I was once again a decent looking middle-aged woman.
Sometimes we lazed by the pool in the apartments and the adjoining spa, and occasionally we had an afternoon siesta after a morning in the sun. We had a wonderful honeymoon and the week away soon ended.
After we married, we were in a dilemma over where to live. Darryl lived in a one bedroom rented apartment, way too small and did not allow pets. My two-bedroom villa wasn’t much bigger, but Darryl moved in with me until we came up with a better arrangement. Darryls boxes filled the second bedroom, and we replaced my television with his big screen.
