by Agatha Frost
“Sally?”
“Claire?”
The old friends stared at each other, the ex-candle factory worker holding a drug-concealing picture frame, and the estate agent wearing nothing more than a loose-fitting silk gown and brandishing a lamp like a weapon.
“What are you doing here?” Sally lowered the lamp and covered her body with her arms.
“I could ask you the same question!”
“I thought you were a burglar!” Sally stepped into the room, keeping her eyes fixed on the carpet. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
Claire arched a brow. “Isn’t it?”
Sally sighed and nodded. “Actually, yes, it is.”
“You’re having an affair with Graham?”
“It’s not as simple as that.” Sally frowned, clearly not liking the judgement. “Why are you in Graham’s house? He’ll be back any second. He’s just gone to—”
“Check on the factory,” Claire butted in. “I know. I made that happen. Well, Mrs Doubtfire made it happen.”
“What?”
Damon hurried upstairs, cutting off Claire’s need to explain. Claire’s friends looked at each other with the usual disdain they defaulted to whenever they were together.
“I thought I heard voices,” Damon said, panting for breath. “What the hell is Sally doing here?”
“She’s having an affair with Graham.” Claire was unable to look away from her oldest school friend. “Sally … I thought you were so happy.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Then I suppose we need tea.” Claire put the photo frame with the pills attached back onto the shelf, unsure of how it proved anything other than Nicola’s possible murder of her father or a casual drug habit that had yet to rise to the surface. “I think my place would be better, don’t you?”
After dressing, Sally followed Claire and Damon through the front door and across the grass connecting the two cottages. She settled Sally at the kitchen table with a cup of sugary tea before dragging Damon out to the hallway.
“Would you mind waiting in the sitting room?” Claire asked, biting her lip. “I think we need to talk woman to woman.”
“Whatever.” Damon reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick stack of envelopes. “I think I found something.”
Before Claire could ask about it, she heard her friend crying in the kitchen. As important as the investigation was, her relationship with Sally trumped everything else. Perhaps they weren’t as close as they’d once been, but they had still experienced a lot together.
“Can it wait ten minutes?” Claire asked, glancing at the envelopes.
“It’s waited this long.”
Damon walked into the sitting room and closed the door behind himself before Claire could ask what he meant. He turned the TV on loud enough to drown out Sally’s crying, leaving Claire to join her at the kitchen table.
“I’m sorry,” Sally whispered, wiping mascara streaks from her cheeks. “I don’t know what you must think of me.”
“Why are you apologising?” Claire grabbed her hand and squeezed hard. “You’re like my sister, Sally. You can tell me everything, you know that.”
Sally smiled through her tears, which only brought on more tears in the process. The look she gave Claire made her think Sally had forgotten somewhere along the way that she had a confidante. Claire would never burn that bridge.
“It’s been going on for a few months,” Sally began, using her sleeve to staunch her tears. “Paul left me, Claire. He’s gone.”
“What?”
“He packed a bag and left,” Sally said, almost choking on the words. “Went to ‘find himself,’ whatever that means. Said we rushed into things and he needed space.”
“But you have children.”
“He video chats.” Sally forced a laugh. “Men can do that, can’t they? They can up and leave. Mothers, not so much.”
Claire decided against telling Sally the story Ryan had told her about his wife; she hadn’t even told Sally he was back in Northash yet. Once upon a time, Sally would have been the first person she’d called after seeing Ryan. Sally was the only one who knew how Claire used to feel about him.
“Paul made his choice.” Sally stiffened up. “It wasn’t an affair. I know that’s how it looks, but it’s such a dirty word. Nobody was sneaking around.”
“Graham was married.”
“Yeah, in law.” Sally sighed and looked around the kitchen as though searching for eavesdroppers. “Nicola and Graham’s marriage had been a sham for a long time. They’ve been trying to get divorced for years, but they could never agree on terms. She wanted everything, and he wasn’t willing to budge. So, they just stayed married. Kept up pretences for the public show of it. Nicola’s father loved Graham. I don’t think he would have accepted his daughter if she divorced. They were on shaky ground as it was, according to Graham. He was old fashioned like that, wasn’t he?”
“He always talked about the family unit,” Claire said with a nod.
“Well, they weren’t a family.” Sally glanced through the wall as though she could see the cottage next door. “Nicola had been seeing Jeff for years, and Graham knew it. He was fine with it, or so he told me. Said it got Nicola off his case. This part is going to sound really bad.”
“Go on.”
“Nicola introduced me to Graham,” Sally said, scrunching up her eyes. “I know it’s weird, but I was in a low place. Paul had just gone, I was struggling with the girls, and then Nicola Warton offers to set me up on a date. I think she was doing it because she pitied Graham, but we ended up getting on. He’s nice.”
“I didn’t know you knew Nicola.”
“I didn’t.” Sally shook her head before sipping her hot tea. “Not really. We weren’t friends or anything, but I was helping her look for buyers for the factory outside of official channels.”
“You knew about that?”
“I’ve been trying to warn you for months!” Sally sank into the chair. “I’ve been dropping hints, telling you to get your dreams going. When you said you wanted to see the shop, I thought you’d found yourself a way out before it all went pear-shaped.”
“I was fantasy shopping!”
“I didn’t know that!” Sally’s voice rose to match Claire’s. “It’s not my fault she wanted to sell. She was well within her rights. She seemed desperate to get the money so she could run off and start a new life abroad. Jeff was going to go with her. He had this wife. She sounded awful, had him trapped.”
“Belinda.” Claire clenched her jaw, knowing it wasn’t Sally’s fault she’d been spun a story. “She’s not a bad woman, she’s just a little lost. I work with her.”
“Oh.” Sally blushed. “Well, Graham was glad to be shot of Nicola anyway. But then she died, and things flipped upside down. Ben took over, and I had to help Graham find lawyers. I felt so bad sneaking around. Do you know how many times I wanted to come and knock on your door to see you?”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because you’d ask questions I wasn’t ready to answer.” Sally smiled sadly. “I didn’t want to admit that my perfect little life had fallen down around me. We drifted apart because I was jealous of you.”
“Of me?”
“You have the world at your feet!” Sally cried. “Nothing holding you down. You can do anything and go anywhere. That’s what we were going to do. Graham and me, that is. Once he got the factory, Nicola’s buyers finally came through with an offer. I told Graham to sell so we could be the ones to run off. I’d take the girls, of course, but if everyone else can get a new start under the sun, why can’t I? Even Jane from the tearoom got out of Northash! Don’t you ever just want to run away?”
“Never.”
“Then you might be the only one.” Sally sipped her tea. “This village feels like a fishbowl when things aren’t working out. There are ghosts around every corner. You can’t escape your past because it’s always around you.”
Claire understoo
d what she meant, but she looked at it differently. The ghosts, even the bad ones, were just memories. And even when the ghosts came in human form, like Ryan, she would never wish them gone.
“That was you on the phone,” Claire thought aloud, the pieces slotting together. “I was hiding under the bins at the factory, and I heard Graham on the phone with someone talking about money. He said he loved you.”
“He does,” Sally said quickly. “I love him too.”
“Oh, Sally.” Claire could barely look at her friend, but she had to tell her. “He tried to kiss me.”
“He did what?”
“I didn’t want it, and I certainly didn’t reciprocate it,” Claire explained. “But I was at his cottage last week looking for my little black book. Nicola stole it. It was in her office, and as I was leaving, he ducked in to kiss me.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“He did.” Claire grabbed Sally’s hand. “I’m sorry, but you know I wouldn’t lie to you. That’s not all. He fired me.”
“Because of the kiss?”
“I think so.” Claire tilted her head side to side. “Partly, at least. There’s more, and you’re definitely not going to like this. I think Graham killed Nicola, and then Jeff.”
“What, no, he can’t—”
“How well do you know him?” Claire jumped in, squeezing Sally’s hand harder. “Don’t you think it’s odd he would want to sell so quickly after his wife’s death, even if they weren’t together? Before he kissed me, he cried in his kitchen about Nicola. I don’t think he was as over their marriage as he led you to believe. I think he snuck into the factory and pushed—”
“No, you don’t understand,” Sally interrupted, letting go of Claire’s hands. “He can’t have killed Nicola or Jeff because he was with me. Both times. We were in his cottage. And I told the police as much.”
“Are you lying to me right now?”
“I wouldn’t,” Sally said, frowning. “I haven’t lied; I just haven’t told you the truth.”
Claire fell back into her chair, her entire understanding of the murders falling down around her like someone had just ripped all the strings from the investigation board in one swift motion.
“But I was so sure,” Claire said, almost to herself. “Everything points to him.”
“I promise you.” Sally pulled her phone from her pocket and flicked through her pictures. “Here, look. I took this silly selfie of us the day Nicola was killed. Look at the timestamp. It’s minutes before she was pushed. We were both next door, watching daytime TV.”
Claire stared at the picture of their faces warped with artificial dog ears and giant red tongues. They almost looked like a cute couple.
“And when Jeff … Well, we stayed up all night watching films together,” Sally said, slotting the phone away. “The police looked over the movie account and it confirmed we were both there. Well, it confirmed someone was there, but it was us. I promise you. Graham couldn’t have killed either of them.”
Dazed and confused, Claire left the kitchen and walked into the sitting room. The TV was still playing, but Damon was engrossed in one of the letters from the stack of envelopes he’d taken.
“Graham can’t have killed either of them,” Claire said, her brows so tightly wound she was sure they’d merge in the middle. “He was with Sally. I was wrong. I was so wrong. We’re back to square one.”
“No,” Damon said, his eyes dark as he held out a letter to Claire. “I don’t think we are.”
“What is it?” Claire accepted the letter.
“The final letter in a string of about fifty threatening Nicola.” Damon pulled off his glasses and leaned on his knees, his hands running over his face. “I’m so sorry, Claire. I think you should read it.”
I won’t warn you again. You were told about the safety of the railings several times. You were told about the safety of the exposed vats several times. I tried to stop this happening. You know what you’re doing. You’re cutting corners, and you’re lying to everyone. Bilal fell into that vat because you didn’t want to admit that the factory needed a serious cash investment to make it safe. I know you wrote that suicide note in Bilal’s name. You won’t get away with this.
This is your final warning.
Confess, or you know what happens next.
Claire’s hands shook so furiously, the letter she held rustled louder than the episode of EastEnders on the TV. She scanned the letter again, unable to take the words in.
“It’s not signed,” Claire said, tossing the letter back. “Anyone could have sent it.”
“But you recognise the handwriting, don’t you?” Damon stood slowly, showing her the rest of the letters. “These were stuffed down the back of the shoe rack. Nicola wasn’t taking them seriously, but he was very serious. You recognise the handwriting. You must, because I do. He’s been writing our reports for years.”
“I recognise it.” Claire attempted to gulp, but her mouth was as dry as a bone. “How could I have been so wrong? He’s been at the centre of this whole thing, and I never saw it.”
“Never saw what?” Sally asked, appearing behind her.
“Call Graham,” Claire instructed. “I think he should be around to hear this.”
Chapter Fifteen
As difficult as it was for Claire to bite her tongue, she decided to wait until Graham arrived to fill them in on her theory. In the ten minutes it took for him to drive back into the cul-de-sac, Claire had a clearer idea of what had been going on.
“I’ll go and meet him,” Sally said, jumping up quickly. “He’s going to be a little confused.”
“So, are they an item?” Damon asked the second they were alone.
“Sort of.”
“I thought Sally was happily married?”
“So did I.” Claire stared at the letters on the table. “I suppose you never really know what’s going on beneath the surface.”
Graham’s voice began to rise; Sally did a good job of calming him down. The front door opened. Deciding she didn’t want to be on the back foot, she met them in the hallway instead of waiting for them to come to her.
“You hoaxed the phone call?” Graham cried, shrugging off his jacket with heavy reluctance. “And then you broke into my house to try and prove I murdered my wife and her lover?”
“You did call the police on her and fire her, amongst other things,” Sally said softly as she hung his jacket. “And she didn’t break in, she had a key. The key you gave her parents when you went on that cruise with Nicola.”
“But murder?”
“Her story was quite compelling.” Sally went to rest her hand on his shoulder, but it didn’t quite make contact; she scrunched up her fingers and pulled back. “If I hadn’t been with you at both times, I might have believed it myself. Let’s just listen to what she has to say.”
“This had better be good.”
Sally and Graham sat on either side of Damon on the sofa. Claire thought about taking her father’s tatty old armchair, but she opted to stand. The adrenaline had yet to ebb. It didn’t take long for the standing to turn to pacing.
“C’mon then!” Graham demanded. “How could you possibly think I murdered two people?”
“I got it wrong,” Claire admitted, “and I’m sorry for that, but if I hadn’t let myself into your cottage, I probably never would have found out Sally was your alibi, nor would we have found these letters.”
Graham glanced at the letters on the table. He didn’t go in for a closer look, making it obvious he already knew about them.
“They started turning up at the house after that poor lad fell into that vat of wax,” Graham explained, his tone softening. “No stamps, so they were clearly hand-delivered. They were on the doorstep every Tuesday when we woke up. I told Nicola to set up some cameras, but she didn’t take the letters seriously. Said someone was probably trying to get something out of her. She wasn’t going to crack; she was stubborn like that. I wanted to take them to the police. She wouldn’t
listen.”
“She wasn’t scared of them?” Sally asked, reaching forward to pick up one of the letters. “They might not be saying it openly, but it sounds like they were threatening to kill her. They really thought she covered up Bilal’s death to make it look like a suicide.”
“Did she?” Claire asked Graham directly.
Graham’s lack of reaction gave a lot away. He leaned back into the sofa, one of his arms going around the back of Damon’s head. The other rubbed as his forehead like he was trying to scrub away his thoughts.
“I don’t know,” Graham admitted, his tone soft. “I didn’t want to think she could, but the way she denied it, it was always too much. As much as she didn’t like to acknowledge it, I knew her better than anyone.”
“That says a lot,” Damon said, almost under his breath. “If she couldn’t convince you, then she clearly did it.”
“But why?” Sally asked, leaning forward to look across at Graham. “If Bilal’s death was an accident, why would she go to the effort of faking a suicide note?”
“Because she was warned.” Damon dug through the letters until he found a specific one. “Listen to this. ‘A safety report was submitted to you two weeks before Bilal’s fall, and the broken railing was in there. I know it wasn’t fixed. I saw it with my own eyes the day before Bilal’s death. Did you think you could get away with fixing the railing after and nobody would notice? I noticed. I know the truth.’” He put the letter back and picked up a second. “And this one says, ‘You knew Bilal was on antidepressants. You gave him a warning for taking time off, so he told you the truth. You used that against him in his death. You’re the sick one. You won’t get away with this.’”
“She thought it would blow over.” Graham waved his hand dismissively at the letters. “She thought they were silly. She’d laugh when another showed up. I think she enjoyed the drama of it. In fact, I remember her joking that the writer should have used letters cut from newspapers to really hammer home the clichés. It was all a joke to her.”
