My first and only attempt at writing for big people, let me know what you think? I might submit it to a womens mag.

Murder in the Vines

Someone was following her. She kept the same pace, and tried to look around inconspicuously. She heard a roaring in the distance, getting louder as it approached. She gave up trying to be casual and looked over her shoulder. A car. A car coming straight at her. It was gathering speed and heading toward her as she stood on the path that ran alongside the country road. It was going to hit her and she couldn’t move. Then another car rounded the bend from the opposite direction. The car intent on her demise swerved away at the last moment, as it did Phoebe dived into the hedge. The car sped off narrowly missing her as she launched herself upwards, and back into the neatly clipped box hedge that sheltered the eastern side of the path.
Phoebe heard a car screech to a halt then a car door opened, she couldn’t see anything as she was firmly wedged in the hedge. A well manicured hand came into her line of vision. She grasped it gratefully and with a bit of grunting and a lot of wiggling on her part she was finally freed from her uncomfortable perch among the branches.
She looked up into the handsome face of her rescuer, “Good morning,” she said. “Thanks, I may have had a bit of trouble getting out of there without you.”
“Are you OK?” he asked. He looked her up and down, his eyes searching for injuries, but obviously admiring the tanned length of her legs.
“Yes thank you,” Phoebe looked at her scratched arms and felt her pony tail slipping. “a few scratches and the odd bruise, but fine.”
“That car tried to run you down.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. Thank goodness you came along when you did, you must have scared them off.”
“Ah, would you like a lift home or something?” he suddenly seemed at a loss.
“That would be fantastic. I don’t live far from here, but I certainly don’t feel like running the rest of the way home.”
“Do you think we should call the police?”
“What’s the use? We really don’t have much to tell them. Did you get the number plate?” Phoebe asked.
“No.”
“I didn’t either.”
“Well, OK. If you’re sure. But they were trying to run you down.” he said.
“Maybe they were just skylarking.” Phoebe was not the hysterical type and could see no point in making a big deal of it.
“Well come on, I’ll give you a lift home. My name is Charles Pascale.” He held out his hand to her.
“I’m Phoebe Redmond,” she said as she took his hand in her own.
Charles opened the car door for her, Phoebe got in and directed him to her home. The car stopped at the curb in front of her house.
“Thank you for the lift.” She said as she got out, then hesitated, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Charles turned off the car and got out, “I’d love one.”
“Good.”
Phoebe led Charles through a side gate and into a courtyard. She opened the french doors and was nearly knocked down as her two dogs barrelled past her and into the yard beyond. Puzzled she followed them, and Charles followed her. “They are usually all over visitors, I wonder what’s going on.”
”Oh dear!” Phoebe muttered. She approach her studio, the door was broken.
“Some one has broken into my studio.” Phoebe nudged the door open with her toe. “Ruby! Cruzer here!” They moved to her side. “Out.” said Phoebe quietly. The dogs went out obediently. Phoebe looked at Charles’ concerned face. “Maybe we should call the police.”
After the police had left, Phoebe and Charles sat at her small kitchen table drinking coffee.
“Are you sure there’s nothing missing?” he asked.
“I don’t think so, but in that mess who can be sure.” Phoebe went to the freezer, “I’m starved. Would you like something to eat?” she rummaged around. “There’s some beef and vegetable soup here, plenty for two.”
“If you’re sure?” Charles hesitated, “And if you don’t mind my staying.”
“There’s plenty and I would appreciate the company to be honest.” She began to gather some bowls, cutlery and napkins.
“Nice dogs,” he said as he watched the two reddish brown dogs lying on a mat.
“This is Ruby,” she pointed out the smaller of the two, “and that’s Cruzer.”
“What breed are they?” Charles observed the unusual line of hair running along their spines.
“Rhodesian Ridgeback. They’re an African hunting dog.”
“Good watchdogs?”
“Yes, I wish I hadn’t locked them in the house today.” she said.
“But they may’ve been hurt, they were going to run you down. I don’t think poisoning your dogs would’ve been an issue.” Charles remarked as he watched Phoebe pour them both a glass of orange juice.
“I hadn’t thought of that. So it’s just as well really.” Phoebe dished up the soup and placed some crusty rolls in a basket. Her movements were relaxed and efficient.
“Sorry about the juice, I don’t have anything else.” Phoebe placed a bowl before Charles and one at the setting opposite.
“Thanks.” Charles took a roll, “What do you use your studio for?”
“I’m a freelance photo-journalist, mostly in tourism.” she explained. Her eyes narrowed, “Pascale? Anything to do with Pascale Wines?”
“Yeah, the owner.”
“Really! this is great. I was going to call you next week, I’m going to do an article on Hunter vineyards that are owned by Barossa Wineries,” Phoebe enthused.
“Sounds good to me, give me a ring next week and we’ll organise a time.”