by Polly Holmes
That is not true. Why do people insist on printing lies about me? Was it her, or was the air in the kitchen getting thicker? “I’m well aware of what the article says, Liam, but it’s wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. Sure I was there, and I did my fair share of protesting. Peacefully, I might add. I was nowhere near the violence and I did not attack anyone, let alone the police.”
Adrenaline coursed through her veins as the familiar name of the journalist left the bitter taste of disgust in her mouth. Christina Jacobs, what did I ever do to you? Clair closed her eyes against the sudden rush of anger.
“Clair?” Charlotte said, her tone edged with concern. “Are you all right?”
Emotion clogged her voice. “No, I am not all right.” Her eyes flew open and she sucked a deep breath into her lungs. “Once people see this, they’ll think I’m a murderer for sure.” Clair surged from her seat, the high-pitched scrape of the chair legs on the tiles ran shivers down her spine. “I’m not giving in that easy. Yesterday was pretty much a dead end. I think it’s time I paid Christina Jacobs an impromptu visit,” she said storming, from the room. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted,” Clair called over her shoulder as she disappeared into her room.
Clair racked her brain trying to remember what she’d done to offend Christina, but her mind blanked. “I just don’t get it,” she muttered as she put the finishing touches on her make-up. Clair pulled her bushy red hair back into a ponytail at the base of her neck. Dressed in a sea-green, chiffon top, three-quarter, black jeggings and white-wedge heels, she took one final glance in the mirror and smiled. I don’t scrub up half bad.
Her bedside clock read 8:05 a.m. Plenty of time to see Christina and be back before Mason arrives at nine. She grabbed the newspaper, her handbag, and headed out.
By the time Clair pulled into a car bay outside the Ashton Point Chronicle, her thoughts were focused solely on why Christina had it in for her. Clair pushed through the door, her wavy red ponytail flying around in the briny sea breeze. Approaching the empty counter, she tapped the bell several times, her impatience getting the better of her. “Hello… Hello, is anyone here?” she called.
“Hang on a second.” A stark male voice called from an office to her right.
Her pulse sped. Drumming her fingernails on the counter, impatience boomed in the base of her belly.
“Clair? What are you doing here so early?” Daniel said as he approached, carrying a steaming mug of fresh vanilla-scented coffee. Her second favourite coffee flavour behind hazelnut.
“I think you know very well what I’m doing here.” She flung the paper on the counter open at the damning article.
“Oh, that.” Daniel shrugged. “It’s just a story. Christina likes to add her own flair to her editorials. Papers sell when there’s a little controversy.”
“Controversy? Like the controversy you created when you printed that bogus story about Charlotte poisoning her cupcakes at Beth and Lincoln’s wedding?”
Hurt marred his expression. “Hey, my sources were correct at the time. Anyway, everything turned out all right in the end. Charlotte was cleared.”
“No thanks to you.” She pointed to the paper once more. “This is a pack of lies. Next, she’ll have me pinned as Roland Trent’s murderer as well. Where is Christina? I want to talk to her.”
He grimaced and shook his head. “I’m afraid she’s not here. You’ll have to come back later. She’s over at the police station with Detective—”
Clair snatched the paper and spun on her heel. She didn’t wait for him to finish. The sooner she reached the police station, the sooner she could sort out this mess.
Clair walked double-time down the street. The morning sun was already warming the pavement under her feet. A stream of sweat trickled down Clair’s neck into her cleavage. Great, that’s all I need, sweat patches on my chest. Not really the look I was going for.
Clair ran her clammy hands down her jeggings and by the time she got to the police station steps, she was perspiring like she’d just finished a hot yoga class. She had visible wet patches under her arms and thanks to her sweaty neck, the hair that had worked its way loose from her ponytail was now in ringlets. Her insides were simmering and it wasn’t just from the burning sun. I swear, Christina, if I run in to Mason looking like a wet rag I am not going to be very happy.
She burst through the station doors and a wave of icy air brushed over her. Relief soared through her body. Oh, thank goodness. She focused on the tall blonde at the counter while she let the cool air seep through her limbs.
Christina had made it very clear when they’d moved to Ashton Point that she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Apparently, that’s what makes a great reporter, at least that’s what she tells everyone. For as long as Clair could remember she’d never been one to go unnoticed and today was no different. A blonde bombshell straight out of a 1940s Hollywood movie. A jealous streak worked its way into Clair’s tight chest. Christina was expertly showing off her curvaceous figure in a semi-see-through cream blouse and a tight, navy pencil skirt, exposing luscious legs that went all the way up to her armpits.
Clair shook her head and joined her at the counter. “Christina, Daniel said I might find you here. Would you mind telling me why you would print such lies about me on the front page of your paper?”
“Excuse me,” Christina said as she spun, brushing her long blonde locks over her shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
Clair wanted to wipe that smug look off her face with her own newspaper. “Oh, really,” she said pulling the paper from her bag. “This is what I’m talking about.” She held up the front page. “These lies. I want to know where you got your information from, because it’s all wrong.”
“A reporter never reveals theirsource.”
“That’s if you even have a source,” she snapped throwing the newspaper on the counter.
Christina’s ice-blue eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me a liar?”
Clair blinked away tears of frustration. “If the shoe fits. Tell me who you got your information from.”
Christina leaned in leering at Clair. “Like I said, a reporter never reveals their source.”
“That’s because there is no source, is there? You fabricated false details of this old story to make me look like a murder. To make everyone think I was capable of being a cold-blooded killer. Why? Why would you print this before finding out the truth from me? Unless you had another reason to print that nonsense.”
Christina straightened her back and stepped away from Clair. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. A reporter’s source must be protected at all costs.”
Clair’s eyes widened in surprise at Christina’s defensive manner. “I did not kill James Hapworth or Roland Trent and no amount of lies you print will cover the truth, and I will find the truth, Christina, you can count on it.”
“Ladies, please.” Their heated discussion had caught the attention of the police receptionist, Alison. She stepped up to the counter. “I know you’re both upset but you need to calm down. Throwing accusations won’t help anyone.”
“I’ll take it from here, Alison.” A man said from behind her and she whirled around to see Detective Anderson standing, arms crossed with a disgruntled expression on his face. “I think that’s enough of a display in my police station, don’t you, ladies?”
An iron fist squeezed Clair’s chest. She could barely breathe around the anger that bled through her system. She opened her mouth to speak but her words were cut short by Christina’s fake tone.
“Of course. How utterly rude of me.” She turned her phoney apologetic eyes on Clair. “Please forgive me, Clair? You’re right. I should have come to you with the story first to check the facts before sending it to print.”
What the…? Clair cocked her eyebrow at Christina, wondering why the change of heart.
“I guess I let my inquisitive journalist streak get the better of me. Speaking of facts…” The sparkle retur
ned to Christina’s eyes. “Detective, while we’re here, why not give us an update? So Clair, here, can be guaranteed I’ll get the next story right.”
Facts, yes. Did he go back to Roland’s office and find Stella’s file? Clair could almost hear her heart beating in the silence while she waited for his response. “Yes, the least you could do is tell us what you have found so far. After all, it is my life on the line.”
“Actually, I don’t have to tell you anything, but in the spirit of cooperation, I think it’s best to keep all parties apprised of developments. Mason Hapworth insisted that you be kept in the loop.” He sighed and ushered them over to the left side of the foyer out of earshot of the general public.
Clair’s insides warmed and this time it wasn’t from the heat of the day. Thank you, Mason.
“At present, we can confirm that both men were killed by a blow to the back of the head with some sort of rounded object. It looks like the same or similar weapon was used but we haven’t had any luck recovering it. It’s not looking hopeful, considering the amount of old furniture and trinkets left in the house by Mrs Sweets when she passed. The murderer could have used an object from the house and disposed of it by now and we’d never know. We’re still working on the connection of the two men.” His gaze zoned in on Clair. “A search of Roland Trent’s office turned up one bit of interesting information.”
Clair took a deep breath to squelch the nervous tension firing through her veins. “It did?” The phone message.
“Yes, a recorded message from James about a meeting with a woman. At first we thought it related to you, Clair.”
“Me?”
“Yes, but we’ve since ruled you out since the date on the tape was the day before the murder. We’ve conducted searches of both Hapworth’s offices and came up empty.”
Her relief was short lived. No murder weapon, and no mention of his marriage to Stella. Did he even know they were married?
“No incriminating evidence was found at either place or on his computers. We’ve confirmed he only owns the two laptops we found, but we’re hoping we’ll be able to find his mobile phone at his house. We’re just waiting on a warrant now.”
“A search warrant?” Christina asked, her pen still scribbling words on her note pad.
“Apparently, he shacked up with Stella Roseamund shortly before his death and she has refused us entry without probable cause and a search warrant.”
“Well, considering she is his widow, she has every right to refuse you entry,” Clair said.
Both Christina and Detective Anderson looked at her as if she’d just confessed.
“What?” They said in unison.
“So, you didn’t know? They were married recently. He didn’t even have the decency to tell his own son.” Clair paused and suddenly became aware of Christina’s drilling gaze.
“What else do you know?” Detective Anderson asked in a frustrated tone.
She frowned. Like I’m going to tell you two. You’ll probably twist it around and make me look even guiltier. “It isn’t my place to do your job for you, Detective, but I suggest you have a good long talk to Stella. I’m sure she knows more than she’s letting on about James’ whereabouts over the past few months and maybe she might be able to give you some answers regarding Roland Trent.” She turned her gaze on Christina. “Now, you’ve got someone new to torment.” She hiked her bag up on her shoulder. “If you’ll both excuse me, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one morning.”
Before they could stop her, Clair was out the door and on the way back to her car. Her fists clenched at her sides. At least that little tidbit of information about Stella should keep those two off my back for a while.
Clair was interrupted by the trilling of her mobile phone singing from her handbag. She looked at her display and her heart lurched. Mason. “Hello.” Mason’s soothing words greeted her.
“Clair, it’s Mason. Um, I’m not sure if you remembered that I was coming around for you at nine. I’m here at your house, but you’re not.”
Clair gasped and slapped her forehead. “I’m so sorry.” She’d been so caught up in her discussion with Christina and then Detective Anderson that she’d completely lost track of time. “Listen, I had to deal with something, or should I say someone, and it couldn’t wait.”
“I know, Charlotte filled me in. How did it go?” he asked.
She frowned. “Not very well, I’m afraid. But on the bright side, I did find out some interesting information from Detective Anderson.”
“Oh.” He paused as if contemplating what to say next. “Charlotte mentioned you needed to head into work. Instead of coming back home, what do you say I swing by Tea 4 Two, grab us a couple of fresh coffees and some pastries, then I’ll meet you there and you can tell me all about it?”
Her cheeks warmed and his caring tone seeped through her veins. He sounds like a concerned boyfriend.
Clair cut her wayward thoughts short. He was there to help clear her name, not find a girlfriend. At least by the time he’d arrive, she’d have had a chance to change her sweaty shirt into one of the spares she kept in her office.
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
Chapter Seven
MASON’S BODY HUMMED with anticipation. He’d been looking forward to seeing Clair again, he just hadn’t realised how much until he arrived at her house and she was nowhere in sight. His heart had skipped a beat when Charlotte informed him she was off chasing down a demon in the form of a tall blonde named Christina Jacobs. After the close call they’d had yesterday in Trent’s office, he didn’t want Clair taking any more chances with her life.
“Order for Mason.” A husky voice called out across the café. He smiled at the tall, burly woman, grabbed his order and headed back to his car. The new owners of the Tea 4 Two Café had certainly turned it from the mediocre place it used to be into a hive of activity. It hadn’t been the buzzing place to be when he’d lived in Ashton Point, although he’d very rarely ventured away from his computer. As a dorky, pimple-faced teenager, he hadn’t socialised much with the locals. He was more interested in developing his computer programs and getting away from his father as soon as he was old enough.
Guilt tore at his heart. The promise his mother asked on her death bed flooded his mind. Promise me, sweetheart…promise me you’ll look after your father. It’s going to be hard after I’m gone, but he’s a good man and he loves you very much.
Good man? Mason’s gut twisted in knots and his heart hardened a little bit more. The love he had for his father had long since faded. Now, Mason was saddened at the time lost, the time his father dedicated to his business instead of his family.
Mason froze just as he was about to step out from the covered walkway to the carpark behind the cafe. The sinister tone of a man’s words stopped him dead in his tracks.
“You better find out what James did with my money or maybe you’ll follow in his footsteps and end up just like him. Dead.”
End up just like him. Dead? Was his father’s murderer within arm’s reach? Mason’s heart pummelled his chest. He quickly took cover in the alcove of the old candy bar doorway, out of sight of the two men. Thankfully it had been closed for some time. His ears were one hundred percent tuned to the conversation mere meters away.
The man’s voice lowered an octave. “Listen, Mr Edwardson, this isn’t the time or the place to discuss business.”
The voices went silent and Mason, held his breath a moment, hoping they hadn’t left. He spotted the retreating figure of Emmerson Bancroft heading towards her father’s accounting office. Mason shook his head, wondering how she managed to still look the same as she had since primary school. Same bleached-blonde hair, same brown eyes. The only difference was she was now as tall as him. Mason’s attention was quickly diverted back to the male voices, but now they seemed quieter than before. Careful not to be noticed, he leaned as close to the edge of the walkway as he could, straining to hear.
“Listen, Gorson, I’m not le
aving ’til I get some answers.”
“You’re right. James was my partner, but our partnership was very new and I’ve only been in town a short while. We didn’t work on the same projects together. He didn’t confide in me about your investment, but as far as I know, there is no money.”
Partner? My dad had a business partner? He chanced a momentary glance in their direction. Thankfully, neither of them had seen him. He drew a blank. The faces of the two men didn’t ring any bells. The short, stocky one with a bad 1960s oily comb-over, claiming to be the business partner, shuffled on his feet and a cold shiver skulked up Mason’s spine. He had a gut feeling about this man and it wasn’t pretty. He looked as shady as they come.
“I want my money back,” Edwardson said in a demanding voice. “I don’t care what you have to do to get it, but you will find my money, Mr Gorson, or so help me, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
Mr Gorson sighed and brushed his fingers through his greasy hair. “Let me have a look and see what I can find out. I can’t promise anything but I will look into it for you. Like I said, we kept our projects separate. I figured out pretty quickly that James and I weren’t exactly on the same page when it came to business. It wouldn’t surprise me if James took your money for himself. I was contemplating dissolving the partnership just before he met his ill-fated demise.”
Mr Edwardson scanned the carpark then turned to leave. “Just find my money. I’ll expect a call from you in the next twenty-four hours. And I suggest you don’t make me wait too long.” He stormed off, leaving Gorson standing there alone.
Mason’s chest started to burn. He hadn’t realised he was holding his breath. Sucking in warm air, he waited until the coast was clear then made a beeline for his car, his pulse pounding in his head. “This just keeps getting better and better. First Stella, then Roland, now Gorson…who will it be next, Dad?”
He pulled up outside CC’s Simply Cupcakes. The pink, chocolate-brown, and white frosted sign above the door and pale-pink window frames definitely suited a 1950s vibe. The place was a hive of activity. People lined up to grab the sweet treats. He glanced down at the bag of pastries in his hand and his stomach let out one loud grumble. “Why did I bother buying these, when I could feed my sweet tooth here?”
