by Polly Holmes
Her heart jumped into her throat at the sound of her phone. Gee, way to scare me half to death. Rummaging in her bag, she managed to answer it before it went to the message bank. “Hello.”
“Charlotte, its Hannah.”
The hairs on the back of her neck flared as she bolted off the door. “Hannah, what can I do for you?”
“Can we talk?” she said in a solemn tone.
Yes. Charlotte did a fist pump high in the air. “Of course. Is everything all right?” An eerie silence met her words. “Hannah?”
“I’m not sure,” she said.
Charlotte continued. “I’m free now, if you are. I can meet you somewhere.”
“Can you come by my office?” Hannah asked, a little too eager.
“Sure, give me fifteen minutes,” Charlotte said as she searched her bag for her car keys. She hadn’t needed them since Liam had been doing all the driving. If she was on the right track, she’d have a confession from Hannah by nightfall.
A cold shiver shot up Charlotte’s spine as she entered the council chambers. “Why didn’t I bring Liam with me?” Because you sent him away, remember?
It seemed to take Charlotte twice as long to reach Hannah’s desk than it had that morning, but by the time she got there, her nerves were shot and she was ready to end this drama once and for all.
What is with Hannah’s pale complexion and drawn face? It even looked as if she’d been crying. Hannah’s manicured fingers nervously twisted together at her waist. Definitely the actions of a guilty person. A spark of triumph nestled in Charlotte’s chest.
“Charlotte, thank you for coming,” Hannah said in a soft voice.
“Of course, no problem.” Charlotte’s calm demeanour on the outside was no match for her zealous insides which were about to burst any second.
Hannah paced behind her desk, her breathing increasing with every step. “I’ve done a terrible thing, Charlotte, and I’m not sure what to do about it.”
Yes! Thank goodness. She had Hannah exactly where she wanted her, ready to confess. “I think the best thing is to be honest. No good can come of lying.”
Hannah’s gaze shot razor blades at Charlotte. “Oh, come on. As if you haven’t bent the truth once in a while.”
Charlotte felt anger rising. “There is bending the truth and then there is ‘bending’ the truth, especially when it comes to murder.”
Hannah’s ice-blue eyes narrowed. “Murder. What murder?”
“Mr Hutson, of course,” Charlotte said, cringing at Hannah’s fake innocence. “How about you be honest with me?”
Hannah cocked an eyebrow and thrust her hands on her hips. “I had nothing to do with his murder. I may not have liked the guy but I would never kill him, and that’s the honest truth.”
Charlotte’s jaw dropped open. “No more lying. You can’t rely on your goody-two-shoes image to protect you now.”
A crimson blush worked its way across Hannah’s complexion. “You’re one to talk, Miss Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-your-mouth. If we’re talking about being honest, how about you admit you were snooping around my desk this morning and answering phone calls that don’t concern you?”
An iron fist squeezed Charlotte’s chest. “Well, you can hardly blame me when this town pretty much has me convicted of murder.” Charlotte squeezed the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Look this is getting us nowhere. If you say you didn’t kill Mr Hutson, explain the phone call to me and why you weren’t at Beth and Lincoln’s wedding when you were supposed to be.”
Hannah dropped into her chair with a thud. “All right, all right,” she said, her head falling into her hands. Glistening tears brimming her eyes. “I have a gambling problem, well more than a problem. An addiction.”
Charlotte stared wide-eyed at Hannah. I did not see that one coming.
“I owe a man a lot of money, a bad man, and I couldn’t pay him. So when one of the Sydney businessmen that Mr Hutson was dealing with offered me a substantial amount of money to acquire one of his files, I didn’t see the harm in it.”
“Why would you betray Mr Hutson like that?” Charlotte asked.
“He changed about six weeks ago. He wasn’t the same man that he used to be. He became arrogant and rude and snapped at even the little things.” Free flowing streams of tears ran down Hannah’s cheeks, adding to her mounting hysterics. “I figured if he was going to treat me like dirt, then I was going to get my money’s worth.”
It was as if someone had opened the floodgates and now that she’d started confessing she couldn’t stop. “I was desperate. You don’t understand. I couldn’t stop. He said he’d pay my debt to the loan shark, as long as I got him the file.”
“What was in the file that he wanted so badly?” asked Charlotte, so engrossed in the drama she almost forgot the reason behind her visit.
Six weeks? The same time Thomas said Mr Calderson and his wife started having issues. How interesting, another clue to add to the list.
Hannah shook her head and shrugged. “I have no idea. I was just the delivery person and then Mr Hutson had to go and die and now his office is a crime scene. They’ve taken photos, files, just about everything, so they’ll know if I go in and things are out of place. Oh, Charlotte, what am I going to do?”
Charlotte stood in front of Hannah’s desk, her hands clenched tight. This was not the way she envisaged the evening progressing, comforting a sobbing, blonde, freckle-faced prima-donna instead of hauling her down to the police station with a confession of murder.
How could I get it so wrong?
“Charlotte, I’m out of options. He kept his end of the deal and paid the loan shark. You heard him on the phone this morning. He said if I keep him waiting, he’d out me to the loan shark.”
Charlotte felt her stomach roil with sympathy at the pained look on Hannah’s face. “Look, I’m sorry that I was snooping through your desk today or answering your calls, but you asked me to be honest and I think you should go and see Detective Anderson and explain everything.”
Hannah gasped, mortified at Charlotte’s suggestion. “I couldn’t.”
“What choice do you have? If you don’t, others might jump to the same conclusion I did, that you murdered Mr Hutson. I think it would be unwise to try and get the file, as it will make you look guiltier. If I were you, I would cut my losses and explain everything to the police. There’s no need for them to know that you have a gambling problem. You could just tell them you borrowed the money for a family emergency and couldn’t pay it back in time. After all, you haven’t actually stolen the file. You could even hint that the businessman was trying to blackmail you.”
The sparkle in Hannah’s eyes grew until they glistened like a waterfall in the morning sun. “Yes. Charlotte, that’s perfect.”
Perfect for you, but not for me.
Charlotte held her breath as Hannah threw her arms around her neck and squeezed. The sickly-sweet scent of Hannah’s perfume was a war on Charlotte’s nostrils. “You’re the best.”
Charlotte gripped Hannah by the shoulders and pushed her body away. “But promise me you’ll get some help. Gambling is one of the worst sorts of addictions and I would hate to see your life destroyed by it.”
“You don’t have to warn me twice,” Hannah said, nodding in agreement. “This was a huge wake-up call.”
“I’m glad.” She smiled half-heartedly. “But I suggest calling Detective Anderson as soon as possible.” A deflated feeling squeezed her chest as she left the council chambers. Hannah had a solution to her problem, but if Charlotte wanted to keep herself out of jail, she’d have to up her game.
“That woman is so infuriating,” Charlotte muttered, as she pulled out of the council car park. “So much for my theory about Hannah.” I’m glad I didn’t tell Detective Anderson about the phone call. How embarrassing would that have been?
She drove in silence, wrestling with her thoughts. Her suspect list had diminished by one, now that Hannah was out of the picture. It’s definite
ly worth having a chat to Mrs Calderson and finding out what’s going on there. But would she open up? I bet, Liam the charmer would have her eating out of his palm in no time. Charlotte nervously chewed the inside of her cheek.
With her mind preoccupied, the trill of her phone coming through the Bluetooth caught her off guard. “Hello,” she said hastily, in an effort to silence the ear-piercing noise.
“Charlotte McCorrson, its Detective Anderson.”
So not the voice I wanted to hear. Instead, Anderson’s voice nauseated her stomach. “What can I do for you, Detective?” She huffed.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you would want to know that Ms Boothman has been cleared of cyanide poisoning,” he said in an abrupt tone.
Charlotte blew out her breath, startled at the sheen of tears that blurred her vision. Tears of relief. “She has?”
“Yes, I’ve just come from the lab and while it is not public knowledge, I had a hunch you’d find out one way or another. This way, I’m guaranteed you hear the truth and not some alternate version, twisted in the town gossip train.”
“I guess you’ll be looking elsewhere for another suspect, then,” she said, satisfaction swam in her belly as the words rolled off her tongue.
“I didn’t say that. All I said was Ms Boothman was cleared. The investigation is still ongoing and until there is evidence to the contrary, you are still a person of interest,” he said.
This is totally outrageous. Definitely have to up my game. Her blood boiled at his total arrogance. “Yes, Detective, I understand. Out of curiosity, what was wrong with Ms Boothman?”
“Food poisoning. I’ll still expect you in the morning,” he said and rang off.
“Oh, you’ll see me in the morning all right,” she said pulling into the driveway.
Charlotte closed the door and threw her keys in the bowl on the hall stand, furious with Detective Anderson’s narrow-minded attitude towards her. A noise from the back of the house startled her. Clair…maybe she’ll know what to do next. “Clair, I’m so glad you’re home,” Charlotte called as she entered the kitchen. “I could really use some…”
Charlotte’s words faded into thin air as her eyes widened. Her gaze scanned the disastrous state of the kitchen. Floured pans piled high, remnants of chocolate and vanilla cupcake icing, and broken egg shells were scattered across every bench. “What on earth?” It looked like World War III had descended on their kitchen, but Charlotte knew better. It was Clair’s attempt at designing a new creation, and as usual, she’d left Charlotte to clean up the mess.
“Oh, Clair, why don’t you let me do the cooking?” She huffed, tossing her bag on the only clean spot on the bench. Try as she might, she couldn’t calm the annoyance swirling around in her belly. How many times do I have to tell you, the kitchen is my domain? She rolled up her sleeves, ready to get stuck in cleaning Clair’s mess. Before she could make a dent, out of the corner of her eye she saw movement. Her heart lurched into her throat when the image of a man filled her line of sight.
Charlotte turned and froze, staring at the darkened figure of an intruder. She gripped the bench, her hands tight and fingers tense while her pulse raced like a speeding train. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house? How did you get in?”
“Well, it really wasn’t that hard, considering the back door was unlocked. You know, you really should be more careful, Charlotte. You never know what sort of people might break in.” Thomas’ ominous tone had her on edge.
“Thomas?” Her brow creased. “Is that you?” She’d been so determined not to keep Liam waiting this morning that she’d forgotten to lock it before she left.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ve been waiting for you down in the TV room. You always did say that I was welcome anytime,” he said, his lip turning up into a semi-smile.
Yes, but I didn’t mean let yourself in. “Of course. What can I do for you?”
“I was pretty worried about you this afternoon, so I wanted to pop over and see if you were okay.” His brow frowned as he looked her up and down. “You look like you’ve made a miraculous recovery.”
Oh crap. There was nowhere to hide now and no Liam to help her. A strained laugh left her lips as panic flooded her mind. Menstrual pains. “You wouldn’t believe it, but it was my period.” Thomas’ grimace spurred her on. “It arrived early and I tell you those stomach cramps can be crippling. I guess I just didn’t expect it as they’re not due ‘til next week.”
“Really, Charlotte,” he said, holding up his hands. “Talk about an overshare. I really don’t want to hear about your woman’s business.”
She flattened her hand against her racing heart, revelling in the charade. “Imagine my surprise. I was pretty worried there for a while. Scared I would end up like Mr Hutson.”
Thomas’ brow creased. “Poor Mr Hutson.”
“Or Ms Boothman,” she continued. Nausea filled her gut at the thought of food poisoning. She’d had it twice before and both times, she’d landed herself in hospital for a week.
“I guess,” he said pausing, shoving his hands into his jacket pocket. His gaze scanned the catastrophic mess on the benches. “Food poisoning really sucks.”
I never said anything about food poisoning. How would Thomas know that piece of information? Detective Anderson said he’d just found out and it wasn’t public knowledge.
Charlotte froze, her blood turning to ice. The only other person that would know would be the killer. Thomas murdered Mr Hutson.
“It’s you, you killed Mr Hutson, but why?” Her gaze widened and she held her breath, the gravity of her predicament hit her like a semi-trailer at full speed.
His face paled. “What are you talking about, Charlotte?”
An icy shiver invaded her body. “How do you know Ms Boothman had food poisoning?” The mounting pressure in her chest reminded her to breathe. “Detective Anderson only just found out about twenty minutes ago. It isn’t public knowledge. So how do you know?” she asked as she edged herself toward the only free escape. It was as if he transformed into the Joker from Batman right in front of her eyes and a sly evil leer worked its way across his face.
“You got me,” he said with a conniving giggle. “Looks like this visit is going to be more productive than I first anticipated,” he said pulling his hand out of his pocket.
Her gaze zeroed in on the full syringe in his right hand. Cyanide. Panic slammed into her. He’s going to kill me too. Nausea welled in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, the pieces slotted together in her mind like a cleverly constructed jig-saw puzzle. His new Range Rover. How could he afford a car like that on his salary? The fake story about Mrs Calderson wanting to murder her husband. That woman wouldn’t hurt a fly. His bedraggled appearance. She should have known something was off, but she thought he was emotionally dealing with Mr Calderson’s coma. Thomas was never out of a suit. “Why would you want to kill anyone in this town?”
“You’re not really that stupid, are you?” he snapped. “This town is going nowhere and the one good thing that was going for it was going to make me a very rich man.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. Liam wasn’t here to help her get out of this one, but she refused to go down without a fight. “What are you talking about? If you’re going to kill me anyway, and by the look of that syringe that’s your intention, the least you can do is tell me the truth.”
“I suppose I can give you that much,” he said as he slowly moved toward his target. “It’s not as if you’ll have a chance to tell anyone.”
She edged her way around the island bench keeping a safe distance between them, her gaze frozen on the needle.
“I know you know about JMB.”
Her brow creased. “JMB?”
“Jackson Memphis Building Corporation. I met them when I was in Sydney a few months back. They’re a fine, upstanding company who want to build a new high-rise apartment complex on the foreshore here at Ashton Point. It would make the town a h
ell of a lot of money. You see, I was their go-to man and I assured them that the council would go for it. They paid me handsomely to secure the council votes, ensuring the plans were passed in time to start building in October.”
“So what happened?” Charlotte said keeping them at a stalemate by continuing to circle the island bench in the centre of the kitchen.
“What happened was I spent the money. It was all scheduled to go through at the next council meeting and then stupid Mr Hutson found out about my deal before the vote could go through and that selfish bastard wanted a cut. When I refused, he thought blackmail would help him get a share of my money. He isn’t as wonderful as this town thinks, you know. Ashton Point isn’t the one making money from the business coming in for the Foundation Day fete, he is.”
Excitement burned in her belly as the clues fell into place. “JMB didn’t know you didn’t have everyone onside, did they? Or that you’d spent the money. You would have to pay back the money if the deal fell through. The fact that you already spent the money meant you couldn’t pay Mr Hutson. I bet he threatened to tell JMB all about your little adventure.”
She jumped, clutching her chest as the high-pitched ringtone of her phone interrupted them.
“Leave it,” he said thrusting the needle toward her.
She gasped and froze, her heart speeding up until it was pounding like a jackhammer. It rang again. “What if it’s important?” What if it’s Liam?
His lips thinned and his gaze darkened. “Won’t matter. Now, where were we?” He took a calculated step toward her and she pulled back against the corner bench.
Her knees were like jelly, about to buckle, and her stomach convulsed. She held out her hand. “Wait, I need to know the whole story. You owe me that much.”
He halted and shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. Either way, you’re a dead woman. Yes, you’re right. If the deal fell through I’d have to pay back the money and there was no way I was going to be blackmailed by that over-weight, pint-sized, self-absorbed man. So, there was only one option.”
