Twenty years after the mysterious death of her mother, ex-cop and true crime novelist Andie Yates, returns to a small Australian coastal town to search for missing teenage backpacker, Summer Daniels.
When she arrives in Bayswater, there is no welcoming committee, no brass band, no great-to-see-you-again smiles, just suspicion and mistrust.
Battling lies and deception, Andie joins forces with private investigator, Mac Turner, to uncover the townâs shocking secrets.
Andieâs fight for truth and justice turns into a fight for her life.
Twenty years after the mysterious death of her mother, ex-cop and true crime novelist Andie Yates, returns to a small Australian coastal town to search for missing teenage backpacker, Summer Daniels.
When she arrives in Bayswater, there is no welcoming committee, no brass band, no great-to-see-you-again smiles, just suspicion and mistrust.
Battling lies and deception, Andie joins forces with private investigator, Mac Turner, to uncover the townâs shocking secrets.
Andieâs fight for truth and justice turns into a fight for her life.
Iâd be damned if I took the case, but if I didnât, Iâd regret it for the rest of my life. Indecision rolled around like a ball of acid in the pit of my stomach, burning through its lining. As much as I wanted to help Maureen Daniels find her daughter, Summer, I wasnât sure I could ever return to Bayswater. But here I sat, in a Melbourne cafĂ© waiting for Maureen Daniels and her desperate plea for help.
The bar was dimly lit, cosy. Outside, the first hint of what was set to be a cold Melbourne winter had bittenâits teeth clamped shut, refusing to let go, sending people scurrying for sweaters and searching for shelter at their favourite cafĂ©s.
I waited. Seated. Alone. Surrounded by wooden tables filling fast, and the rich, tantalising aroma of freshly-ground coffee.
Iâd seen Maureen Daniels interviewed on television, appealing for information about her missing daughter, so when she opened the door and paused, wearing a forlorn expression no one could miss, I recognised her immediately. Catching her eye, I waved cautiously.
She waved back, an I-can-do-this smile replacing the sadness, then she pushed through the tightly-packed tables to reach mine. âAndrea Yates?â
I stood, held out my hand. âMrs Daniels.â
âCall me Maureen.â She sat down, pulling the scarf from around her neck, before folding it neatly and placing it on top of her leather handbag.
âWould you like a coffee?â I glanced around for a server.
Maureen shook her head, her blonde bob moving effortlessly with it. She tucked one side behind her ear, revealing the grief and pain in the lines around her eyes.
âThank you for agreeing to meet me,â Maureen said, her hands clasped tightly on the table. A frown appeared, and from the way it settled so comfortably on her features, it looked very much at home. âIâve listened to your podcast. Very powerful,â she added.
âThank you. Iâm proud to have played a role in reopening the Massey case and gaining a conviction.â I said.
âThatâs why I reached out. I need someone whoâll so the same for Summer, make the authorities reopen her case âŠâ Maureenâs voice cracked, slivers of emotion breaking free, â⊠and find my daughter.â
I felt her pain, her aching, her need for answers, but as much as I wanted to provide Maureen with justice, I wasnât sure I was ready to return to Bayswater even though it had been twenty-two years since my motherâs death. âMrs DanielsâMaureenâthank you for getting in touch, but ⊠Iâm not sure Iâm the best person to helpââ
âBut youâre my only chance,â Maureen cut in. âIâve tried everything.â Her eyes pleaded with me, the womanâs sense of hope going under, begging to be saved.
I remembered Summerâs disappearance two years ago. Only eighteen, spending her gap year backpacking around Australia. Got as far as Bayswater in North Queensland. She finished work one day as a deckhand on a boat and never made it home. Hasnât been seen since.
âIâm prepared to contribute to your expenses,â Maureen said.
Back to business now.
âI donât expect you to take on something like this without any financial support.â Maureen opened her bag.
âItâs not the money,â I replied. âThereâs a lot to consider ⊠Iâll have to speak to my publisher, see if I can get away.â
Maureenâs expression faltered.
Iâd been there myself. Iâd lived her uncertainty. I knew her pain. But what she was asking was impossible, something Iâve never been able to do. Return to Bayswater. Even now memories ambush me, sometimes bringing sadness, sometimes anger.
Maureen opened the folder in front of her. âMy notes and the reports from the last two years.â She held it out towards me. âTake them.â
âWhy donât you keep them until I speak to my publisher? If I need them, Iâll come and collect them.â
She put the folder on the table, disappointment at the thinly veiled let-down clear in the sagging of her shoulders. âWhen will you be able to give me an answer?â Her hands gripped mine, held them prisoner, refused to let me walk away. Walk away from her request and her money and the Pandoraâs box that waited for me in Bayswater.
I tried to ignore the desperation and the sadness and the loss in her eyes. But I couldnât. The indecision Iâd been feeling turned into resolve. I knew then what I had to do. I had to find closure for Maureen. And myself.
Â
My stomach tightened. âOkay.â The whisper of my words was so low I could barely hear them myself. Iâd done it. Iâd committed myself. Committed myself to returning to Bayswater in North Queensland. To search for Summer. And to uncover the truth about my motherâs death.
I released my hands from her grip and picked up the folder. âI may need to contact you again to fill in any blanks.â
âWhatever you need.â Maureen exhaled the tension from her shoulders, a lightness glimmering in her eyes. âWhat else can I do to help. I feel so useless not being able to do anything.â
âIâll let you know if thereâs anything.â
Maureen stood and gave me a smile, one that clung to her face like a drowning person on a life raft. After gathering her scarf and wrapping it around her neck, she fumbled with the clip on her handbag, took out a silver cardholder and slid one of the business cards across the table with her finger. âMy address.â Her eyes never left mine. âThank you.â
Maureen turned and headed out, and I watched as she stopped to let a group of teenage girls into the cafĂ©. Her eyes followed them over to their table as they laughed and hugged, celebrating Friday night. There was agony on Maureenâs face. Agony which, I knew, wouldnât disappear until Maureen had the answers she needed to move on.
Maureen caught me looking, we locked eyes for a moment. Then she gave me a half-smile and made her exit without looking back.
I buttoned my suit jacket and threw my scarf around my shoulders. I tucked Maureenâs business card and the file into my bag and looked at my watch. Only thirty minutes before I was due to meet Jacqui.
Jacqui, a close friend since my university days, was now my adviser and publisher. She helped to steer me through my latest career change and avoid the traps of the publishing and podcasting. Tonight, we were celebrating the success of my podcast and the scheduled release of my true crime novel about serial killer, Massey. Â
I wasnât sure how sheâd react my decision to return to Bayswater. Sheâd be more than happy we had a new project in the pipeline, but she also knew how my motherâs death haunted me. She was probably the only person who realised how difficult it would be for me to return. But difficult decisions werenât new to me.
Itâd been difficult to give up studying law. Difficult to leave the police service after eight years. Difficult to understand justice wasnât always granted to those who deserved it.
I left the café, breaking into a run to catch the green pedestrian crossing light and jump onto a tram. Three stops later, I got out and joined the commotion of the after-work crowd. Jacqui was already sitting inside the bar when I arrived. She stood out from the crowd in her tight red sweater and her knee-high boots and a matching, red-streaked ponytail.
I took off my jacket and slid into the chair across from her. âYou bought champagne?â
Jacqui held up the bottle of MoĂ«t. âNo expense spared.â She poured two glasses then put the bottle back into the silver cooler standing beside the table. Jacqui handed me a glass and raised hers. âCongratulations.â She clinked her glass against mine. âTo a successful launch.â
âYou donât think youâre being a little premature?â
âPremature? Rubbish. Your podcast has millions of listeners and the pre-orders on your book have been amazing.â
I raised my glass and sipped the champagne. âYouâre right, I should be grateful, but I measure my success differently. Itâs not the number of podcast listeners I have, or the number of books I sell. Itâs the number of bad guys I get off the street. I donât regret leaving the force to go out on my own to put Massey behind bars. Thatâs where all serial killers belong.â
Jacqui held up her glass again. âYes, I know. Justice, locking up the bad guys, you did it. And Iâm so proud of you. But, Andie, relax for a second. Letâs just take a moment and enjoy the success. We can talk business tomorrow, because I have every intention of finishing this bottleâand then probably another.â She took a big gulp of champagne, then looked at the almost untouched glass in front of me. âWhatâs up?â
âUp?â
âYeah, âupâ. You seem preoccupied. Problems with Simon?â
âSimonâs fine.â By the look she threw at me, she wasnât buying it.
âWhen are you two getting married?â
I shrugged and kept my expression casual cool. âSimon keeps wanting to set a date. But itâll happen when itâs time. Next year, maybe. Or the year after? Thereâs no rush.â
The grooves between Jacquiâs brows deepened. âItâll happen when itâs time?â
I twisted the stem of the champagne glass and watched the lights flicker through the bubbles feeling the weight of Jacquiâs stare. âThereâs just too much going on at the moment to organise a wedding and besides Iâm happy with the way things are.â
âYou might be happy but how does Simon feel?â
âSimon would get married tomorrow but Iâm not sure thatâs what I really want anymore.â There, Iâd said the words out loud. Too late to take them back. âBut weâre here to celebrate remember, not dig into my relationship with Simon.â Time for a change of subject. âI know weâre here to celebrate but this canât wait. Iâve been approached by someone to look into a missing personâs case.â
Jacqui was smart enough to register my clear shift of topic, but didnât let on if she did. âFantastic.â She raised her glass. âIâve got a project for you as well. You tell me about yours first.â So much for spending the evening savouring our success and not thinking about the future, but I was grateful to be able to distract her from asking more about Simon.
âItâll mean going back to Bayswater.â
âBayswater? Where you grew up? Where your mother âŠ?â Her words stalled and drowned in the waves of noise washing around us.
âWhere my mother died, yes.â I wanted to say âmurderedâ, but the word stuck in my throat.
Jacqui said nothing, her silence telling me everything about her concern for me. âHave you told your grandmother?â she said after a moment.
I hadnât thought of that. Iâd have to cross that bridge when I came to it. âNot yet, but Iâm sure sheâll be fine about it.â I lied.
The momentary raising of Jacquiâs eyebrows expressed her doubt before she continued. âSo, tell me about this missing person then.â
âSummer Daniels. Only child. Backpacking around Australia when she disappeared two years ago.â
âA runaway?â
âShe couldâve decided to go off the grid in North Queensland, but Iâm not sure. Her motherâs convinced she wouldnât do that and is desperate for answers.â I took another sip of champagne. âYou have to admit this is a great opportunity.â
âAs your publisher, it sounds like a great opportunity, but as your friend âŠâ Her voice faded to nothing.
âI really want to do this, Jacqui.â
âSure. As soon as we get this book launch over. Oh, and thereâs another project Iâve lined up as well. Let her know youâll be available in the New Year.â
âIâve told her Iâll start as soon as I can. This canât wait.â
âWhat? You didnât think to talk to me about it before agreeing to do it?â Jacquiâs voice turned curt then hurt.
âJacqui, I need to do this, but Iâll understand if you donât want to be a part of it.â I wasnât letting anything stop me. The launch was a month away and I understood Jacquiâs hesitation about me returning to Bayswater. I had the same reservations but I was making the right decision. Finding Summer was the priority, a case I could get my teeth into.
Sure, Iâd probably look into my motherâs death while I was there. I could do this. Couldnât I? I drained the last of my glass and plastered on a confident grin, pretending there was nothing to worry about. âMaureenâs paying for most of the expenses and I can finance the rest out of my savings. If you donât want to be involved it wonât cost you a cent.â
âYou donât have to do that. Finances arenât the issue. I just think youâll be struggling to finish both projects by December.â
âI can get both done by the end of the year. I promise you. Give me four weeksâone monthâand then if I havenât made headway, Iâll tell Maureen thereâs no point continuing. One month, until the launch, thatâs all Iâm asking.â
 The bar was now packed, people and noise crowding around tables and chairs, filling every space. Jacqui eyeballed the man who put his empty glass on our table. âLetâs go somewhere quiet where we can talk. Maybe grab a bite to eat?â The slight edge in her voice suggested that although this was an invitation to eat, she really wanted to discuss my decision further.
âFour weeks is nothing, Jacqui. Câmon. You know Iâll be true to my word.â
Jacqui was hesitating, a good sign.
âIâve never let you down, have I?â
âOkay, Okay. Four weeks.â
I stood up and hugged her hard.
âEnough with the hugs. Are we going to go somewhere to eat?â
âCan I take a raincheck? I want to take a closer look at the file Maureen gave me and my boss says Iâve only got a month to get this job done.â
âWe havenât talked about how youâre going to handle Bayswater. You do have a plan, donât you?â
âNot yet, but I will have.â I hooked my bag over my shoulder. âI promise Iâll ring you as soon as I know what Iâm doing.â
Jacqui didnât move. âPromise youâll ring me if you want to ⊠need to talk.â
âOf course.â
âHave you got this womanâs number so I can ring her on Monday and talk about the details of the contract?â
I took Maureenâs card from my bag and gave it to Jacqui. âThank you. Thank you. Thank you.â
âOne month.â She held up her index finger.
I left Jacqui with the rest of the champagne and grabbed the next train to St Kilda.
Forty minutes later I arrived at my apartment, most of which was still owned by the bank. With a view of the pier and the ocean, it was my refuge from the cold, from the noise and a world where the good guys donât always win.
I closed the door, kicked off my shoes and brewed a coffee. While it was brewing, I texted Mac.
âYou got time to work a job with me?â
 An ex-cop like me, Mac had become disillusioned and disenchanted with the red tape of the law and had left the force to become a private investigator. Heâd worked the case with me when Iâd taken on and beaten alleged serial killer, John Masseyâhis ability to track down people was uncanny, his way of looking at things unconventional, but most importantly his loyalty was unwavering.
I grabbed the file Maureen had given me and took it to my desk in front of the wide windows from which I could see the ocean and the pier.
I was halfway through the file when my phone rang. Macâs photo flashed onto the screen. It was one Iâd taken a few months ago at the launch of my podcast. Heâd made a real effort that nightâa haircut, a beard trim, and a suit I was pretty sure he wouldnât have bought otherwise.
âHey Mac, thanks for ringing.â
âYou said you had a job?â
âA missing backpacker.â
I could almost hear the wheels in his mind kick into gear down the line, grinding into action, picking up speed.
âI know you like the freedom to choose what jobs you do, but this one will earn you a bit of extra pocket money. You could give the Monster a makeover.â
âThe Monster doesnât need any makeover. Itâs ready to hit the highway at a minuteâs notice. As a matter of fact, I was thinking it could do with a good run on the highway, some R&R in the sun.â
âYouâre in luck then. The job is in Bayswater, North Queensland. Plenty of sun.â
âIâm listening.â
âA teenage backpacker went missing in Bayswater a couple of years ago. Interested?â
Another pause. This time longer. âI think I remember that case. Worked on a charter boat?â
âThatâs the one.â
âI guess I could drive the van up and stay in one of the parks.â
I could tell by his voice he was warming to the idea. âIâll even cover the camp fees, as a sweetener. We can work it so youâll have plenty of spare time to enjoy yourself as well.â
âI donât need spare time while Iâm working. You know that. You employ me to do a job, I donât leave till itâs done. Danger doesnât just lurk in the water up north. Take my word for it.â
I didnât need Mac to tell me about the dangers.
The image of my motherâs body lying in those waters slowly squeezed my heart until I wanted to cry out in pain. I couldnât deal with this now. I was preparing to look for a missing teenager.
âWhen would you want to leave?â Mac said, drawing me back to the present.
âNext week?â
âAll right. Count me in. Let me know the details. Gotta go.â
Once Mac had hung up, I moved closer to the window.
A thin pane of glass separated me from the rest of the world. From the fifth floor, I watched families walk the length of the pier, weaving a zigzag from one side to the other, congregating in the misty halos of the streetlamps, swimming through the evening shadows of a human aquarium. If I opened the window, the crash of waves, the roar of traffic and excited screams would flood in and engulf me.
No, I was content to be protected from the coldâand human contact. To be alone with my thoughts.
Jacqui was right. Returning to Bayswater meant confronting the past. But I couldnât put it off any longer. Twenty-two years Iâd waited. I was strong enough now. It was time. I wanted justice for Summer Daniels but I wanted justice for my mother even more.
My phoneâs ringtone shattered my thoughts. Simonâs photo flashed on the screen. My chest tightened and the voice of reason wrestled with my guilt. I knew if I answered, heâd suggest we catch a late dinner. But right then, I needed time to myself before I told him about my decision.
Iâd also have to tell him I was going to Bayswater and then Iâd have to face all his questions. Questions about when I was leaving, where I was staying, when I was coming home. If I couldnât answer them all, heâd accuse me of keeping secrets. It was as if he wanted to know what I was doing every minute of the day. Simon didnât like the work I was doing, wouldnât like me leaving Melbourne, especially with Mac.
The phone rang again. If I didnât answer, heâd keep ringing until I did. âSimon.â
âWhy arenât you answering my calls?â Simonâs tone made me feel guilty of committing a felony crime.
âJeez, Simon. I just walked in the doorâIâve been out catching up with Jacqui.â Is a white lie really a lie?
âI thought we could get something for dinner?â He was so predictable.
âCan we do it another time? Iâve got to get some more work done tonight. There are still some files I need to go through.â
âCanât they wait? Itâs Friday night, Andie. I bet Jacqui hasnât gone back to work.â
Not by the way she was downing the champagne, but something about Simonâs tone suggested this was not the time for jokes. His tone taunted, teased, warning me to expect trouble.
âSimon, please, not tonight.â I couldnât face another couple of rounds with Simonâs suspicion and jealousy, which always led to the same conversation and always ended the same way. Tonight, I had a lot of things on my mind and our future together wasnât one of them.
Simon said something I didnât catch, but before I could ask him to repeat it, heâd hung up.
Everyone who knew us thought we were the perfect couple, but it was times like this I doubted if we were really a couple at all anymore. Simon accused me of always been too busy, too focused, too obsessed with my work. He wanted the commitment of a happy-ever-after lifeâ wife, house, dog, 2.5 children. I wasnât sure I could deliver.
I closed the file in front of me and stood up from the desk, scraping the chair across the tiled floor. Abandoning my half-finished cup of coffee and the view of happy families, I poured a large glass of wine and headed over to my desk. I took another folder from the drawer in my desk. A well-worn, dog-eared folder. Its contents, the reports and statements relating to a death in Bayswater twenty-two years ago.
The death of my mother.
I knew almost every page by heart. Heaven knows Iâd read it enough times. But still, I took the folder and curled up on the couch, glass of wine in hand. I pushed Simonâs face to the back of my mind and started to read the old newspaper clippings and notes Iâd been collecting for years, including the police reports â working on the force had had some benefits even if it couldâve cost me my job.
Once more, I scoured the pages, carefully in case Iâd missed something. Something I hadnât noticed before, something that hadnât seemed important, something that could help me find my motherâs killer.
The Whispering Palms is an accomplished read which has pace throughout. It tells the story of Andie Yates who is asked by a woman called Maureen Daniels to look for her daughter, Summer who has disappeared without trace. Andie is an investigator with previous police experience and so you know that you are in the presence of someone who will pursue the truth until it is found.
The difficulty that Andie faces is that looking for Summer means returning to the town where she grew up and where her mother was found dead in mysterious circumstances. Andie is keen to find Summer but she is also determined to find out more about her mother and her life but as she begins to probe, with her friend and colleague, Mac to help her, she finds that the residents of Bayswater are not keen to open up about anything. This, of course, drives her search even more.
Andie meets figures from her past and learns new things about her mother as well as meeting new influential people in the meantime. One of these is insurance investigator, Jake who seems to be interested in Andie but is he all that he seems to be or does he have a secret to hide as well?
Both Andie and Mac are characters who are likeable and the chemistry between them as colleagues and friends who know and respect each other comes across throughout. There are lots of people mentioned through the book who could be responsible for Summer's disappearance and the plot unfolds nicely and at the right pace. Leigh's writing is fluid and her dialogue is snappy and I found it very easy to read.
Bayswater feels like an insular environment and Leigh does well to show the caginess of all of the residents; some are reluctant to talk because of bringing up the past whereas others seem to be fearful of something or someone. There is a sense of a conspiracy and Andie's doggedness increases the threat to her which is just what you'd expect from a good thriller.
There is nothing too heavy here. Tension and mystery is maintained throughout but it is not an incredibly dark book and it made for light and enjoyable reading.