Excerpt from Miss Josephine of Cherry Tree Bay

An aura of expectancy hung over the open grave. Onlookers dressed in Sunday best, sweltered in the afternoon heat, watching the dark earth rain upon the coffin. They made no pretence of sorrow. In a gesture of courtesy the men stood, heads bowed, hats held to their hearts. The women eyed me covertly from beneath veiled hats, hopeful of some small snippet of gossip. I guessed the thoughts hidden behind the prying eyes. Surely in three years Josephine Langley must have let something slip to me, her young companion, perhaps towards the end; unburdened her conscience.
The mystery surrounding my elderly employer and friend had not palled over the years and those who remembered the beautiful, young, effervescent Josephine talked knowingly of ‘the tragedy’ at Cherry Tree Bay. Others whispered of betrayal and murder in that house of secrets.
I kept my back to the spectators, my jaw aching with the effort of holding back tears. No one offered condolences. I wasn’t family. I dropped a spray of frangipani blooms into the grave; pearly white upon the coffin, a travesty of life and death.