by Polly Holmes
“Listen, Clair, you’ve had a pretty rough morning. Why don’t you let Mason take you home and I’ll stay here and hold the fort?” Charlotte said.
Clair’s mind was on information overload. This is all too much. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I am.” Clair held Charlotte tight as she hugged her goodbye. “I’ll call as soon as I have news.”
She smiled and nodded, turning to follow Mason to the car. How can my life get so out of control so quickly? She sat in silence, the events of the last twenty-four hours on repeat in her mind.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Mason said as he pulled up outside her house.
She smiled, embarrassment settled in her gut. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”
“I’m okay, but you know what will make you feel better?” he asked with a grin.
“No, what?”
“Coffee.”
The word oozed from his lips and flooded her chest. Oh, yes, hazelnut Nespresso. “Definitely.” She paused. Will he expect to come in? Why wouldn’t I want him to come in? After all, he does love a good coffee.
“Would you care to join me?” she asked, praying her voice sounded calm.
“Thought you’d never ask.” The glint in his eye eased the growing tension in her chest.
By the time she drained her coffee cup of the last drop, they’d relaxed into steady conversation. It was like talking to her best friend, only Mason was a lot easier on the eyes. If only she could block the world out and stay talking to Mason for the rest of the day.
Realising almost an hour and a half had gone by, Clair stood. “Thank you for listening. I feel much better now, but I really need to work out my next step in this fiasco if I’m going to clear my name.”
His brow creased. “What are you talking about?”
Invigorated with renewed energy, she rattled off her to do list. “Well, for starters, I need to research more on this curse nonsense. I’d heard talk around town, but I didn’t really take it seriously since I don’t believe in curses or witchcraft or anything like that. Now I’m thinking I should have paid more attention. Then take a visit to Roland Trent’s office. If his murder was related to your father’s, then I should be able to find something incriminating. Dropping in on Stella will—”
“Woah, woah, slow down,” Mason said, his chair scraping on the tiles as he stood. “I know you want to prove your innocence, and even though you don’t have the best confidence in the Ashton Point Police Department, they are the trained professionals.”
Trained professionals? Ha! “That’s exactly what they said. I appreciate your concern, but if you think I’m going to trust my future, my sisters’ futures and the survival of our business to the police, then you’ve got rocks in your head.”
“So, you’re going to put yourself in possible danger?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“I really don’t think it will be that bad. What harm could it do? And if I can find information the police don’t have, then I can clear my name quicker.” She headed toward the door. “Thank you for helping out this morning, but I’m sure I can take it from here. Again, I’m really sorry for your loss and I appreciate you accepting my innocence,” she said, holding the door open.
He stood frozen to the spot. “I don’t suppose anything I will say is going to stop you.”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“A beautiful woman like you should be protected, not putting her life at risk trying to catch a murderer. I would hate for you to get caught in the crossfire of whatever my father or this Roland Trent was mixed up in.”
Clair stilled and her jaw dropped. Beautiful woman? Clair sucked in a deep breath, filling her lungs with much-needed air.
“Let me help you find the truth. You shouldn’t be blamed for something you didn’t do,” he said, holding her gaze in his.
“I couldn’t ask you to do that. You’re mourning your father, the last thing you need is to be running around town with me playing detective.”
“That’s exactly what I need.”
“Why? Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”
“Although my father was really good at his job, I can imagine he may have trodden on a few toes. Someone wanted him dead. I’m pretty cluey when it comes to solving puzzles. It’s what I’ve been doing most of my life. That’s why I went into computer programming, and I’m good at my job.”
She stood still and stared at him.
Charlotte’s voice broke the tense silence as she strutted up the path to the porch. “Listen to him, Clair. If it weren’t for Liam helping me, I might never have found out the truth.”
Clair gasped, and her heart sank. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the shop.”
“Oh, they’ve finished the search. They removed a few items. Don’t worry, I have a receipt for them. I’ve come to grab some of our replacement items so I can get started baking before the afternoon rush,” Charlotte said, flitting past their dumbfounded expressions.
Clair followed. “I think we need to talk about a few things before you head back to the shop,” she said, praying Charlotte would take the hint.
“Afraid I can’t. I need to get back to work to fill some last-minute orders.” Charlotte said, packing a canvas bag full of cooking equipment. “And besides, Mason said he would help you. I’m sure you two will be able to put your heads together and come up with a plan.”
Mason smiled. “Charlotte’s right. Two minds are better than one.”
Clair sighed. “I suppose there could be some advantages to working closely together.” No sooner had the words left her mouth her cheeks began to warm. Her eyes widened as if she knew her words had a double meaning.
“Great,” Charlotte clasped her hands together. “It’s settled. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Charlotte trotted off in the direction of the front door, looking over her shoulder one last time. “Oh, and Mason, make sure my sister stays safe or you’ll have to answer to me.”
He gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”
Clair rolled her eyes as a giggle erupted. “She can be so cheeky sometimes.” Her words were interrupted by a strange sound that resembled The Big Bang Theory’s sitcom theme music.
“My apologies,” Mason said as he scrambled for his phone. His gaze locked on the screen. A frown marred his face and his spine straightened.
“Is everything all right?” Clair asked concern etched in each word.
“Not sure. It’s Stella.” Tension twisted her insides as he rejected the call and returned it to his pocket. “I expect she’s heard I’m back in town.”
Clair’s eyebrows shot up. “Why should that matter?”
“Apparently she’s had her sights set on my father for a while. The last time I spoke to my dad he did mention they were getting serious. In a town this small, I’d expect it to spread through the grapevine like the chicken pox.”
“Yes, I had heard something to that effect, but I wasn’t sure if you knew,” she said as she leaned against the kitchen bench.
He folded his arms across his chest, pushing his pecs high. Her stomach did a little back-flip. “Are we in agreement? You’ll let me help you?”
The gleam in his eyes caught her gaze. “Yes, like you said, two minds are better than one.”
His arms dropped in a sigh. “Great. Now that’s settled, may I make a suggestion?”
Clair nodded, eager to spend more time with him.
“If we divide our time we can get more accomplished.” Her eagerness faded away by the second. “Since I have an in with Stella, maybe she could give me some insight into my father’s activities, help me track his movements, and hopefully I’ll get some answers that way.”
That will be an interesting conversation.
“I’ll go and see Stella under the pretence of discussing my father’s estate and you—”
Clair jumped in, adrenaline pumping through her veins. “I’ll jump on the Internet and do some i
n-depth research into this supposed curse to see what else I can find out and if there’s any truth to it.”
“There isn’t,” Mason said with a grin.
Clair held up her hands in a defensive manner. “I know. I know, but it wouldn’t hurt to arm ourselves with as much information as possible.” She glanced at the wall clock. “What do you say we meet back here in two hours?” She cringed. Oh my, I sound like Trixie Beldon.
Mason grabbed a pen and paper from the table and scribbled his mobile number down. “Here, take this. If you need me for anything, call.”
She gifted him a huge smile. “Okay. In case I forget to say it later, thank you for believing me.”
“You’re welcome.” He said with a smile before turning to leave.
Try as she might, she couldn’t control the butterflies doing somersaults in her stomach.
Chapter Four
AS HE DROVE clear of Clair’s house, Mason punched in Stella’s number and hit speaker phone, dreading the pending conversation. His dad had brought Stella up to meet him almost six months ago, while on one of his “sure thing” real estate deals on the Gold Coast. It wasn’t exactly the family reunion Mason had hoped for. The sickly smell of her cheap perfume, combined with his aftershave, had stuck with Mason long after they’d left.
Stella’s drawl echoed down the line. “Hello.”
“Stella, it’s Mason,” he said.
“Mason, about time,” Stella snapped. “I know you are back in Ashton Point. Why did you ignore me in town today?”
He frowned. “Ignore you? What are you talking about?”
She huffed. “I saw you by the police station, right after your lovey-dovey cuddle with that meddling busy-body, Mrs Stevenson.”
Mason’s stomach dropped, picturing Stella dressed in her fake leopard print leggings, hot-pink Lycra top that was five sizes too small, and her thick layer of caked-on make-up. She was a clone image of Sylvia Fine, Fran Drescher’s mother from The Nanny. Her face would crack if she attempted to smile. “Listen, Stella, as far as I’m concerned, it was more important to see the police and get a handle on the situation.”
She suddenly spoke with a cunning edge to her words. “Mason, dearest, I should think it would be more important to come and comfort his poor grieving widow, wouldn’t you?”
Widow? Mason could almost hear his heart beating against his ribcage as her words sunk in. I did so not see that one coming. Why on earth would his dad marry that dreadful woman?
“Did you hear what I said?” Stella asked smugly.
“Yes, I heard you, but I’m just trying to work out if you’re delusional or drunk,” Mason said as he leaned his head back against the headrest.
“That’s a dreadful thing to say,” she said, faking hurt. “Especially to your step-mother.”
“Step-mother,” Mason yelled. His heart exploded in his chest and he felt his stomach roil at her pathetic tone. “I don’t know what kind of sick joke you’re trying to pull, but you will never be my step-mother. I’m sure he had his reasons for marrying you but I had a mother, one I loved very much.”
“No joke. James and I were married last month when we were on one of his work trips in Sydney and I have the marriage certificate to prove it.”
Marriage certificate? He momentarily pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, I’m on my way over, so I guess we’ll have time to chat about your recent nuptials.”
Walking out onto the back patio of his father’s house, Mason paused, holding down the nausea that welled in his stomach. Everywhere his gaze landed was fake. It was all for show. It was like an award-winning picture, straight out of Home Beautiful magazine. A pebbled, kidney-shaped pool off to the right set amongst a canopy of tropical, lush olive-green trees was his father’s pride and joy. To the left, was a walk bridge leading to a sanctuary housing a four-post, double day bed, which was practically hidden amid a cluster of blue-purple blooming agapanthus. A gardener’s paradise.
Mason’s expression fell as he spotted Stella sitting at the end of the patio, champagne in one hand, a hors d’oeuvre in the other. Her head spun as he approached.
“Well, if it isn’t my new son,” Stella said as she swivelled in her chair. Her cold eyes stared straight through him.
Mason’s heart jerked. “When hell freezes over, maybe.”
Stella stood, pretending to wipe her tears. “I can’t believe that McCorrson woman murdered my James.”
Anger began to simmer in his chest. “She didn’t.”
“Oh, I don’t know. If I’m to believe the paper, it seems the curse on that house got her as well.”
“What do you mean ‘as well’?” Mason asked, dubious of Stella’s words.
She huffed, reaching for the champagne bottle to top up her glass. “That house is cursed, I tell you. I know you haven’t lived here for a long time, but I would have thought the events of that house would have made it up to Surfers Paradise.”
“I wouldn’t believe everything you’ve read on the Internet.”
Her icy-blue eyes widened and she gasped. “It wasn’t just on the Internet. There’s been talk around town, and not just recently. That house has a history and rumour has it that many years ago one of the previous owners went insane and died of a broken heart. She found her husband dead in the garden pool.”
Mason’s eyebrows shot up. “Dead in the garden pool?”
Stella nodded pursing her fake collagen injected lips at him. “That’s what I’ve heard. It’s the curse.”
“You have a pretty good imagination, Stella, but I’m not here to talk about curses,” he barked.
“No need to take that snappy tone with me.” Stella frowned and slid a folder across the patio table in his direction. “Here you go, one marriage certificate as requested.”
Repulsed by the thought, he scanned the document as quickly as possible, confirming they were indeed married. He steered the conversation to a much more interesting topic. “Actually, what can you tell me about Roland Trent?”
“Roland Trent? I’m not sure I know who that is,” Stella said in a nervous tone.
Mason slid his hands into his pockets. Really? Either you’re lying or Mrs Stevenson is, and I know who I believe.
“My mistake. So the fact that he was found murdered this morning shouldn’t bother you.”
“Murdered?” Stella paled, her jaw momentarily dropping in shock. “W-why should it bother me? As I said, I don’t know who he is.”
Mason forged ahead taking advantage of her lapse in concentration. “Then maybe you could shed a little light on James’ movements over the past few weeks.”
Stella stood there in a daze, her glassy gaze fixated on him.
“Stella? Stella,” Mason called, finally breaking through her haze. “Can you tell me about James?”
“Very well. Take a seat,” Stella said, flicking her manicured hands toward the empty chair.
Finally, I can get some answers. Mason thought, taking a seat opposite Stella.
“So what do you want to know?” she asked.
“How about his activities, for starters. Did he do anything out of the ordinary? Or change his pattern of behaviour?”
Stella paused then shook her head. “Not that I can think of. James was such a hard worker, you know, always out closing a deal. He normally worked out of his office here in Ashton Point but lately, he was working more and more in his office at Watson’s Creek. Apparently, that’s where the big bucks were or so he said. He was pretty much focused on work, that is, except for Thursday nights. He plays in the bowling league on Thursday evenings over at Watson’s Creek.”
“Excuse me?” Mason said, his drilling gaze cemented on Stella. “Bowling? My dad was bowling, as in tenpin bowling?”
He watched the forced movement of her throat as she swallowed. “Yes. Bowling,” Stella said smugly. “I hear he was pretty good too.”
How interesting. As far as Mason knew from communications with James several months back, he’d received a
rotator cuff tear in his right shoulder in a charity golf match. How can one go bowling with an injured shoulder? “You didn’t go with him?” Mason asked, his words slicing through the tense atmosphere.
“Listen, sweetheart,” Stella said, leaning forward in her seat. “We may have been married, but we led our own lives. I had my interests, he had his.”
Mason continued. “What else was he doing to occupy his time, other than bowling?”
Stella shot from her seat and stared daggers at Mason. “What are you implying?”
“Who said I was implying anything?”
“Whatever. I didn’t keep tabs on him. I was his wife, not his mother. The only thing he was doing was some course in public relations, over at Watson’s Creek TAFE. He was all about working to secure our future and all that. He was taking classes every Monday evening, so he worked in his office in Watson’s Creek ’til his course started. There were some Saturday workshops every now and then. I’m not really sure, he’d only just started it about a month ago. Now, if that is all.”
Judging by Stella’s incessant glare he knew he’d outstayed his welcome. “For now. I guess I’ll be in touch,” he said turning to leave. Mason didn’t trust Stella one bit and his gut instincts were usually right, but he couldn’t help feeling a little nervous about the blatant lies that easily escaped her lips.
An unnerving sensation skited around in Mason’s stomach as he wrapped his knuckles on Clair’s door. A feeling he wasn’t accustomed to. He was still tossing his words around in his mind when the door flew open, startling him.
“Can I help you?” said a tall blonde woman, her eyebrows raised in question.
She wasn’t Clair. “Um…is Clair home, my name is—”
“Mason Hapworth,” she blurted, a smile spiked the corner of her lips.
He frowned. “Yes, how did you know?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Clair mentioned that she met a handsome man this morning by the name of Mason Hapworth, and since I haven’t seen you around town before, I’m guessing you must be him.”
A surge of triumph ran up his spine. Handsome? I’ll take that.
