by Polly Holmes
Robert paused, lowering his gun slowly. “Would you mind moving over here, away from the body?”
With pleasure. Her head was pounding so hard she thought it might explode.
Robert holstered his gun. Checking the body for signs of life, he pulled out his radio and called it in. Flicking open his notebook, he cleared his throat and asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”
The shrill of his phone blaring through the silent house was like a flock of galahs at feeding time. He frowned as he noted the number on the screen. “I need to take this.”
Clair nodded squeezing her jittery hands together. “Of course.”
Robert shuffled her toward the formal lounge room away from the scene of the crime. “Are you okay to wait in here while I take this call? Then we can talk.”
“Sure,” she said willing his call to be quick. Seems I don’t have much choice. He parked himself by the front door keeping a watchful eye on her, his voice so quiet she could barely make out a word.
“Go ahead, I’m listening…”
I can’t believe this is happening. I knew I shouldn’t have read my stars today. “Life is going to throw you a curve ball.” Some curveball. She stood waiting, the distorted image of the body stuck in her mind like mud.
The lingering pungent stench of blood filled her nostrils. Why would anyone want to kill poor Mr Hapworth? She took a moment to think and then the full realisation of her situation finally sunk in.
Holy cow, with the timing of the anonymous tip, they’re going to think I murdered him. Means, motive and opportunity, isn’t that what they say on CSI? She had no motive to kill him, but the other two may appear debatable since she was found alone with his body in an empty house full of potential murder weapons. Is two out of three enough to convict her of murder?
Not if I have anything to say about it.
Robert’s voice still babbled away, his attention now diverted toward the body. She only had about forty minutes of daylight left. It was now or never.
Clair ignored the nervous pain in her chest and casually studied the room as if she was admiring the aged decor. If questioned, she could pretend she was planning renovations. She shuddered, goosebumps assaulted her arms. It was as if she could sense the spirit of old Mrs Sweets still there in the room.
Time stood still. A dense layer of dust coated the leftover antique furniture. It looked just as it had on her final inspection, when she had walked through with Mr Hapworth. Her gaze fell on the top of the phone table by the lounge room entrance and she paused.
What the...? A dim ray of sunlight gleamed off the fresh clean circular surface. A perfect circle about the size of a wine bottle base. It’s gone, whatever was there is gone. Could it have been the murder weapon?
Robert cleared his throat and her body snapped to attention. “Sorry about that. Listen, Clair, it’s not my place to judge, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me down to the station for further questioning.”
“Station? In the back of your police car? But I didn’t do anything. I only just arrived about ten minutes before you did. I knocked several times and when there was no answer, I came in and found Mr Hapworth already lying on the ground…dead.”
He nodded. “That may be so, but with the anonymous tip we can’t leave any stone unturned.”
He pocketed his phone. “Now, if you’ll come with me, we’ll wait in my vehicle until the coroner arrives for the body.”
“Wait.” Clair paused biting her lip.
“Excuse me?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow.
Should she tell him about the missing object? The truth always wins had been the motto in the McCorrson house since she could talk. In this instance, she wasn’t so sure. She shook her head. “Nothing.”
Robert held the front door open. Clair’s feet trudged along the tiled floor as if walking through molasses. She glanced over her shoulder one last time at the phone table, racking her mind over the missing object. Maybe she was jumping to conclusions and there was a simple explanation.
Clair flinched as she headed out of the house and into the backseat of the police car as if she were a common criminal. Thank goodness it wasn’t the middle of the day, in broad daylight, for every nosy bystander to see.
She buried her face in her hands. This can’t be happening. It just can’t be. I must be in some sort of nightmare. Any minute, I’m going to wake up and see Charlotte’s cheeky grin laughing at me, telling me to stop being so silly.
She owed her sister one big apology. She shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss Charlotte’s concerns when she had been in the same predicament not so long ago. Charlotte had mistakenly been accused of spiking her cupcakes with cyanide. The notion seemed absurd, until now.
The flash of red and blue from another oncoming police car jolted her gaze upward. I wonder if they’ll notice the clean spot of the table. This was clearly a nightmare of the realistic kind.
Having chattered to those who just arrived, Robert pulled away from the curb and headed south toward the station. Her gaze caught his in the rear-view mirror. “How you doing?” he asked.
For a moment she stared at him in blank confusion. Considering my life has turned into an Agatha Christie movie, I’m doing smashingly. “How am I doing?” she shrieked. “How do you think I’m doing?”
“No need to get hysterical,” Robert said, annoyance clearly evident in his tone. “It’s best to stay calm in situations like these.”
“Maybe for you, but from where I’m sitting, life looks pretty grim at the moment.” Her hands trembled in her lap. “You think I’m a murderer, even though you have no evidence.”
“I never said that. I’m just doing my job. You were found standing over a dead body. Procedure dictates that you need to be brought in for questioning and Detective Anderson is eager to speak to you, considering the anonymous caller and all.”
She sat back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest, her spirits sinking by the second. “I’d like to tell our precious Detective Anderson exactly what he can do with his procedures.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Robert said under his breath, his eyes focused on the road ahead.
“Pretend all you like, but if you think you’re going to pin Mr Hapworth’s murder on me, think again.” Clair sat in silence for the rest of the way. Her mind meticulously replayed each step of the evening so many times she felt nauseous.
By the time he’d escorted her into an interview room, her jaw was tightly clenched and her body rigid.
The truth always wins.
Anxiousness clawed persistently at the base of her neck. She’d worked hard to build her reputation in this town and she wasn’t about to let one little misunderstanding destroy it. Her gaze caught Detective Anderson’s stern look as he walked through the door.
“Clair, nice to see you. I wish it were under better circumstances.” He pointed to the chair in front of her. “Please have a seat and we’ll get this over with as quickly as possible.”
“I would appreciate that,” she said as she slid into the chair. “This has been a very distressing evening.”
“Why don’t you start from the beginning,” he said, opening his notepad.
She fiddled with the hem of her shirt under the table. Inside she was a simmering bundle of nerves. “There isn’t much to tell. We recently purchased the Sweets place for a new cupcake and coffee shop, CC’s Cupcake Haven. I was to meet Mr Hapworth at the house at seven to receive the final settlement documents. I was running late and got there at about seven-fifteen. His car was parked across the street, so I knew he was there, but he wasn’t on the porch which is where we agreed to meet. I assumed he was waiting inside, I just didn’t know he’d be dead. I swear.” She took a gulp of the chilled water at the end of the table easing the scratchy dryness of her throat.
“Go on.”
“I knocked on the door and there was no answer. Then I called out, still no answer. The door was unlocked, so I we
nt in and then I called for Mr Hapworth again. Still no answer and that’s when I spotted him lying on the floor…he wasn’t moving and there was so much blood. I knew he was dead.” She squeezed her eyes shut a moment. Remembering the beautiful way her Grandma looked at her wake is the way a person should leave this world. Old age, not murder.
“Clair, are you all right? Do you need a break?” he asked, his voice full of compassion.
Her eyelids flew open. “No. I’m fine. I just want to get this over with so I can go home.”
He nodded and continued. “Whose idea was it to meet at the house?”
She paused and shivered, the air suddenly feeling like a frosty winters morning. “Mine.”
His eyebrow raised and he scribbled unreadable notes as she spoke. “Why meet so late at night?” he asked. “I know it’s daylight savings, but surely, you were worried about being there in the dark. After all, there’s been no electricity since Mrs Sweets passed on.”
“I know, but I figured it would be a great idea to finalise all the details where my next adventure was about to start. You know, take a picture out front so I could hang it inside when the shop opens. Seven was the only time Mr Hapworth could do it and since it’s still daylight savings, it doesn’t get completely dark ’til around nine, so there’d be plenty of light. It wasn’t like it was going to be a long meeting, I hadn’t even intended on going inside. Grab the docs, take a picture…” She slapped her forehead and gasped. “The cupcakes.”
“Cupcakes?”
“Yes, I left the cupcakes at the house. Charlotte made aniseed cupcakes for Mr Hapworth, complete with his silver logo. I know there were other people interested in the property. They were a kind of thank you for helping me secure the property and I left them there on the sideboard in the foyer.”
“I wouldn’t be too worried about the cupcakes, unless Charlotte decided to start cooking with cyanide this time.” His smug tone taunted Clair. “Please continue.”
“As I said, I was there to close the deal. That’s it. Murder wasn’t exactly at the top of my to-do list.”
“So, there was nothing unusual in the house when you entered?”
She shook her head. “No, like I said, it was so still…cold almost.”
“Did you see anyone near the house, in a car perhaps or driving away, as you arrived?” he asked.
“There were a few cars coming and going, none that I knew, but I didn’t really take much notice. I was there for one reason only.” Frustration was slowly bleeding through her limbs.
He shoved an evidence bag across the table. “Are these the documents you were to receive?”
Clair’s attentive gaze scanned the front page. A smear of blood obscured half the words. “Yes. They’re mine. What happens to them now?” she asked more abruptly than she’d meant to.
“They’re evidence for the time being,” he said as he continued to write.
“Evidence? But you can’t hold them. I’m really sorry about Mr Hapworth, but he was going to confirm everything went through on time when we spoke this evening. What am I supposed to do now? It’s not like he has a partner I can turn to.”
“You’ll have to wait until this mess is sorted and Mr Hapworth’s killer is brought to justice.”
He can’t be serious.
Clair already had her first loan repayment due in a month, she’d go broke if she didn’t get the coffee shop up and running soon.
“If I were you, instead of worrying about starting your next adventure, I’d be worrying about going to jail for murder.”
Murder? Clair felt the blood drain from her face. I didn’t kill anyone. “Mark my words, Detective Anderson, I will not be going to jail for any murder. I am innocent.”
He stood and closed his notepad. “Let me give you the same advice I gave your sister, Charlotte, not so long ago. Don’t go getting yourself into trouble or into a situation that will put you in danger. Leave the investigating to the professionals.”
Clair stood eye to eye with Detective Anderson, anger smouldering through her veins like a potent drug. “Yes. And look how that turned out. If I remember rightly, Charlotte solved the mystery of the cyanide poisonings. Wrapped it up in a nice little bundle for you. If it weren’t for her investigation—”
“I think the correct word is ‘snooping,’ and she was lucky we arrived when we did or it could have turned out completely different,” he barked, snatching the evidence bag off the table.
“Call it what you will, but if it weren’t for Charlotte doing your job for you, she could have been the one in jail for murder, instead of the rightful killer who almost succeeded in framing her.”
His lips thinned and Clair could see his cheeks begin to redden. “Still, leave the investigating to the police. Don’t leave town and if we need to question you further, we’ll be in touch. I’ll have Robert take you home.”
“Fine. But if I’m under suspicion of murder, I’d appreciate being kept in the loop since it is my future hanging in the balance.”
“I’m sure we’ll be in touch,” he said holding the door open. “As for keeping you in the loop, we don’t normally tell persons of interest what we’ve found until we’re ready to make an arrest.”
“Persons of interest? We’ll see about that,” she said as she stormed out of the interview room, flicking her bouncy red curls over her shoulder as she left.
Chapter Two
CLAIR TOSSED RESTLESSLY. Her closed eyelids fluttered as she slept, the events of last night running through her head.
“Prisoner Clair McCorrson you have been charged with murder, how do you plead?”
“Not guilty, your honour,” Clair yelled from the witness box, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.
Hysterical fits of laughter burst from the viewing gallery. She turned and spotted her family at the back of the courtroom. But they weren’t her family anymore. They were menacing clowns, laughing, yelling vulgar accusations at her.
“No, no, no,” she pleaded with them. “I didn’t murder him. Stop it. Stop laughing at me.”
That only made them laugh harder and chant her name. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t process the nightmare unfolding before her.
A giggling lime-green clown hosting a bright-pink, frizzy hairdo shot up like a firecracker from her seat and yelled obscenities at her, chanting her name like the roar of an angry lion. The voice sounded like Charlotte, but it couldn’t be. “Clair…Clair…Clair…Clair…”
Clair’s eyes flew open and she bolted upright in her bed, gasping for air, Charlotte’s voice ringing in her head. Her pulse was racing its own hundred-meter sprint in world-record time. She sucked in mouthfuls of air.
“Clair, are you all right? Calm down and breathe slowly,” said Charlotte in a panicked tone. “Take some deep breaths.”
Clair squeezed her eyes shut, the pain in her chest subsiding as her breathing slowly returned to a comfortable rhythm. “Holy cow.” Thank Goodness it was just a nightmare and not reality. Yet.
Charlotte flopped down and stretched out along the foot of the bed. “I’ve been calling your name for ages. Must have been a doozy of a nightmare. Don’t suppose it had anything to do with this?” Charlotte asked as she held up the front page of the morning newspaper.
Clair’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “What the… Cupcake Killer strikes again?” Her lips thinned and she sucked in air through her nose. Clair’s hand flew to her chest, the stabbing pain returning ten-fold. “I am not a killer, much less a cupcake killer.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows raised. “Forget to tell me something last night, huh?”
She snatched the paper out of Charlotte’s hands, her eyes eagerly reading each sentence in depth. Her head began to pound under the weight of the printed accusations.
“Police caught Clair McCorrson standing over the dead body of local settlement agent, James Hapworth, yesterday evening.” I don’t believe what I’m reading. “A secret meeting in an abandoned house, pre-arranged by Ms McCor
rson. History has it, the rickety old Mansion is cursed. Has the spirit of Mrs Sweets returned to haunt the people of Ashton Point? One red-head in particular? Is Clair as innocent as she claims, or did she maliciously plan the perfect murder?”
Cursed…the perfect murder? Is there a sign on our shop that says, ‘blame every murder in Ashton Point on the McCorrson sisters?’
“Hey, I don’t mean to be rude, but I do think you have some explaining to do. Did you know the building was cursed before you put the offer in on it?” Charlotte asked as she pushed up to a sitting position.
Clair threw her doona back over Charlotte and grabbed her dressing gown. “Don’t be ridiculous, there is no such thing as curses. They don’t exist. This is way too much for my head before coffee,” she said, storming toward the kitchen, Charlotte hot on her heels.
“Life’s always fun and games for the McCorrson sisters,” Charlotte said jokingly.
Clair spun, glaring at her sister. “This is no joking matter.” She shook the paper in front of Charlotte’s amused expression. “They’re saying I murdered Mr Hapworth.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, holding her hands up in defence.
Coffee. Everything always seems better after coffee, she thought, continuing her journey to the kitchen.
“But how is this any different from when they accused me of putting cyanide in my cupcakes at Beth’s wedding and then plastered it all over the front page?” Charlotte crossed her arms and waited patiently.
Clair closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples. Coffee. I need caffeine. “Please, Charlotte, can you at least wait until I’ve had my coffee? I didn’t exactly sleep well last night,” she pleaded.
“Sure. You may as well make me one while you’re at it.”
Clair busied herself at the kitchen bench, her body tense. Where on earth did they get the information from? And why would they print my name in the paper, when there is no concrete evidence? News travels fast in a small town, but this had to take the cake.
