Echo Lake

‘As cosy as it is compulsive, Sauers brings the eerie beauty of winter in the Southern Highlands to life. Despite the murder and mayhem that newcomer—and accidental amateur sleuth—Rose encounters when she moves to her dream cottage in the countryside, I wanted to nestle in, myself. A highly recommended, vivid read!’JACQUELINE BUBLITZ, author of Before You Knew My Name‘I couldn’t put this book down! From the breathtaking first page to the spine-tingling finale, Echo Lake held me entranced. This masterful debut combines the gripping menace of a thriller with the humour and heart of a cosy mystery, reflecting the rich character, history and beauty of the enigmatic Southern Highlands. Perfect for fireside reading, particularly if paired with a rich red and some quality chocolate!’NINA D. CAMPBELL, author of Daughters of Eve‘Move over Miss Marple. With its indefatigable heroine, mist-shrouded setting, cast of quirky characters and as many trips to the pub as there are mysteries to solve, Echo Lake is cosy crime at its dynamic, atmospheric best—and Sauers is certainly a writer to watch.’ANNA DOWNES, author of The Shadow House‘Set in the scenic Southern Highlands of New South Wales, Joan Sauers’ Echo Lake is full of atmosphere; the very landscape echoes both freedom and foreboding. Rose McHugh, middle-aged and newly single, is a convincing, compelling and intelligent protagonist who stumbles onto a mystery and won’t let it go. In her search for a killer, she finds her place in her new world as well, which gives this pacy thriller a warm heart.’VIKKI PETRAITIS, author of The Unbelieved‘Echo Lake is a crime novel that casts its net wide. Not just a whodunnit, it also contemplates what makes for a good life, reminds the reader of the importance of historical truth and throws in a ghost story for good measure.’MARYROSE CUSKELLY, author of The Cane This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.First published in 2023Copyright © Joan Sauers 2023All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.Allen & UnwinCammeraygal Country83 Alexander StreetCrows Nest NSW 2065AustraliaPhone:(61 2) 8425 0100Email:[email protected]:www.allenandunwin.comAllen & Unwin acknowledges the Traditional Owners of the Country on which we live and work. We pay our respects to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Elders, past and present.ISBN 978 1 76106 759 4eISBN 978 1 76118 656 1Map by Aleksander PotočnikSet by Midland Typesetters, AustraliaCover design: Luke Causby/Blue CorkCover photograph: Vicuschka/Adobe Stock For Martha CONTENTSPROLOGUEONETWOTHREEFOURFIVESIXSEVENEIGHTNINETENELEVENTWELVETHIRTEENFOURTEENFIFTEENSIXTEENSEVENTEENEIGHTEENNINETEENTWENTYTWENTY-ONETWENTY-TWOTWENTY-THREETWENTY-FOURTWENTY-FIVETWENTY-SIXTWENTY-SEVENTWENTY-EIGHTTWENTY-NINETHIRTYTHIRTY-ONETHIRTY-TWOTHIRTY-THREETHIRTY-FOURTHIRTY-FIVETHIRTY-SIXTHIRTY-SEVENTHIRTY-EIGHTTHIRTY-NINEFORTYFORTY-ONEFORTY-TWOFORTY-THREEFORTY-FOURFORTY-FIVEACKNOWLEDGEMENTSABOUT THE AUTHOR As all historians know, the past is a great darkness, and filled with echoes.Margaret Atwood PROLOGUERose runs deeper into the forest as the fierce wind makes the leaves shudder in the trees. She’s never run so fast, zigzagging around trunks and fallen branches, slipping on moss-covered rocks.Her coat gets snagged on a branch, so she peels out of it. There’s barely any light and she gets tangled in vines, stumbling in her high-heeled boots. She stops, looks behind her. She can’t hear anything over the trees groaning in the wind. She pulls off her boots and keeps running.Branches rake her face, tear at her silk shirt as she trembles with adrenaline and the cold. Behind a broad gum tree, she slows to catch her breath. She touches a hand to her cheek and finds it wet with tears and blood. She stumbles on.She fights through scrub, a tight cluster of banksia, and suddenly the ground drops away beneath her and she is falling.She hits the ground hard.Dragging air into her lungs, her knees throbbing, she gets to her feet and looks around. The light is nearly gone now but she recognises this place. She’s been here before. Echo Lake.The shadow descends, the sick feeling.Then, behind her, his voice. ONESix months earlier …Rose looks out the window and gasps.Kim rushes in. ‘What?!’‘It’s … perfect,’ says Rose.Kim looks over her sister’s shoulder at the uncut grass, scrappy shrubs and scruffy trees. A towering gum is shedding its bark in ragged sheets, and the rickety garden shed looks like it would blow over in the first strong gust of wind.‘Looks like a shitload of work.’But Rose sees what the garden might have looked like in the past—and what it could look like again.Near the shed, red and green parrots are eating pomegranate seeds from the fruit hanging off the tree.‘King parrots!’ Rose says. ‘You never see those in Sydney.’‘I saw some at the zoo once.’Rose looks around the small bedroom. ‘It’s just right.’And it’s true. Ever since her first trip to the Southern Highlands as a child, Rose has imagined living in a little wooden cottage by a creek, surrounded by bushland and birdsong.She pictures where her bed might go, deciding it should run alongside the window. On cold mornings, she can bring her cup of tea back to bed, climb under the doona, and watch the birds.Kim attempts to break the spell. ‘Listen, Rose. I am the voice of reason. This house is small. It’s dark. It’s remote. It needs a ton of work.’‘So do I, Kim. But I have charm.’ Rose grins at her own joke.‘And it’s nearly two hours from Sydney.’‘Which is why I can afford it!’‘It’s in the country, for Chrissake.’‘I love the country.’‘No, you don’t. You love the idea of the country. You know, there’s a serial killer around here.’‘He died years ago.’Rose looks at the walls, figuring out where she’ll hang her engravings.