by Agatha Frost
“Seriously?” Paul walked into the dining room as he unbuttoned his cuffs. “I could have sworn I picked up two bottles yesterday.”
“Only one.” Sally shrugged, clutching her wine at her chest; Claire looked around, but Sally had already moved the first. “When you say will reading, you’re not talking about Starfall House, are you?”
Paul scanned the room as though certain his wife was lying. Given the surprisingly hostile vibe coming from Sally, it seemed she wanted him to know too.
“Yeah,” he replied, leaning against the sideboard as he folded his arms, relaxing a little. “Mrs Jones was always oddly specific about the will being read at the first opportunity. Since all the benefactors were already at the house, it felt like the best time.”
With his perfectly square hairline and even more squared jaw, Claire had always thought Paul was good-looking, but unfortunately, she knew Paul knew he was good-looking too.
“Who’d the old crank leave it to?”
“You know I can’t discuss it,” he replied, already kicking away from the sideboard. “I’m going for a lie-down. The housekeeper was wailing the whole time, and it’s given me a splitting headache.”
Paul left the room and climbed the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. When a door softly closed above them, Sally pulled the empty wine bottle from where she’d hidden it between her knees under the table.
“And I won’t see him until morning now,” she muttered, glaring at the staircase. “He’s always like this on days we have counselling.”
Though Claire wasn’t fond of Paul, Sally had made a compelling case to justify him saying the same in reverse.
“Opal changed her will yesterday,” Sally announced, finally putting her wine glass on the table. “I wasn’t going to tell you because it’s confidential and he shouldn’t even be telling me, but you need something to talk about at the end of a day. I’m lucky to get two words in before he disappears into the guest bedroom. He’ll be playing on his games console like some moody fifteen-year-old until the small hours.”
Claire wondered if she should point out that Sally was acting in a way that fit the same description, but she didn’t want to risk making things worse – especially when Sally had already done her a massive favour with Fiona. It certainly didn’t help that two hefty glasses of wine in, Sally was a lot more unpredictable than her sober counterpart.
“Em said Opal changed her will often,” Claire pointed out. “Could be a coincidence?”
“Could be, but she usually left it a few months in between.” Sally picked up her wine glass again. “I tend to tune out when he starts rambling about cases, but I could have sworn he mentioned her changing her will again only last week.” She sipped her wine, her eyes going to the photograph on the table. “Oh, this fell out of that record when Fiona pulled the disc out. Looks like some old smut picture.”
Sally slid it across the table. Like the picture of Jane outside the tearoom, the image had been taken at night, but it was a lot blurrier. The shot was through a window and seemed to have been zoomed in from a distance, but it was no mystery what was happening. Two men were close, one holding the other’s face, eyes half-closed as though they’d just parted from a kiss. She couldn’t be sure, given the graininess, but they didn’t look young.
Claire squinted at the picture. One of the men was bald and wore glasses. The other had his back to the camera, but she could just make out the side of a beard.
“I think I’m going to get going,” Claire said, deciding she was going to follow a hunch about the bespectacled bald man’s identity. “Thanks for the oils. I’ll pay you back by bringing the wine next time.”
After grabbing the keys from the now-empty plastic bag, which she gave to Sally to throw away, she tossed them into her handbag with the blurry picture and the oils.
“Hopefully, I’ll be coming to your flat next time,” Sally whispered as they hugged at the door. “And don’t worry about your landlord dying. The house will have been left to someone, and they’ll have to at least honour your twelve-month contract.” She pulled away. “I’ll get that invoice from the people the police hired to fix the roof to them, too. There’s no way I’m letting you pay that.”
“Thanks, mate.”
Sally winked. “Anytime.”
Claire walked down the garden path, and Sally waited until she was on the other side of the gate to give one final wave before retreating into her house, glass of wine still clutched in her hand.
Rather than walking down the already shadowy Park Lane as the sun set over the village, Claire cut through the top exit of Starfall Park. The view stretched all the way across the village. In the distance, the Warton Candle Factory’s hill mirrored this one. The first of two bowling greens was at the top of Starfall Park, with the two tennis courts behind it; Claire rarely found a reason to visit this section of the park.
The top path ran alongside the flat bowling green before curving around the back of the observatory on either side and joining up at the front. Claire followed the path around the way she’d go home, but stopped and reached into her bag for the picture. She spun around to face the observatory but didn’t lift the image when she saw Em hunched over on the observatory steps. She was sobbing freely into her palms, but the cries were silent.
Claire cleared her throat, not wanting to startle her. Em’s head shot up, and when she saw Claire, she rushed at her until they collided in a hug. Em clung to her, weeping against her shoulder, so Claire didn’t move, the photo still clasped in her hand. She desperately wanted to ask Em if the man was who she thought he was, but she’d barely be able to see through the tears.
Over Em’s shoulder, Claire looked at the window of the observatory. Even without looking at the photo for a second time, she was sure it was the same.
“Oh, Claire!” Em sobbed, pulling away to roughly wipe the tears from her bright red face. “My grandmother saved her cruellest trick for last.”
“What did she do?”
“The solicitor came to read the will,” she said, resting a hand on her forehead as she stared down the steep hill, her eyes going straight to Starfall House at the bottom. “I am the recipient of my grandmother’s estate. She left the house to me.”
Chapter Twelve
“You can’t be serious,” Claire whispered to her reflection in the mirror as she struggled to fasten her jeans. “Again?”
Yawning, she glanced at the neat pile of clothes in the corner of her box-crammed room from which she’d plucked her jeans. Washed, dried, and ironed, they’d appeared at some point while she’d been asleep. Never mind it was only yesterday’s outfit; clothes scarcely had time to settle in the washing basket in the Harris household.
Knowing exactly what was going on, Claire pulled on her t-shirt. She fed Domino and Sid their turkey-in-gravy breakfast before following the sound of the unfamiliar laughter that had awoken her. She went downstairs and into the kitchen, checking the washing machine on her way to the garden.
“And then she fell clean off the wall!” Janet cried, tossing her hand at the cottage wall. “Landed like a sack of – Oh, Claire, you’re up!”
Out of the strange things Claire had seen that week, her mother having breakfast with Em in the garden had to top the list. Em turned around, her mirth still lifting the corners of her mouth.
“Your mother was telling me about the time you tried to sneak in through the window,” Em explained, still chuckling as she sipped her orange juice. “Quite the rebel, Claire.”
Claire and Em had stayed up talking at the same table until the first traces of daylight rid the sky of its stars. For once, Em didn’t look as peppy as Claire was used to seeing; it was almost a relief considering the fatigue gnawing behind Claire’s eyes.
“She ripped my poor trellis right off the—”
“Right off the wall,” Claire finished her mother’s sentence as she sat at the table in her father’s usual seat; she could hear BBC Radio Four coming from the shed. “You�
��ve shrunk my jeans again, Mother.”
“I don’t shrink clothes, Claire.” Janet sharply sipped her tea and pulled it through her teeth with snarled lips. “You must have grown.”
“During the night?” Claire yanked up her t-shirt to show the straining waistband. “They fit me when I took them off in the bathroom last night. I checked the washing machine. It’s on the boil setting again.”
“Not at the breakfast table, dear.” Janet’s eyes rolled as she wafted her hand to indicate that Claire should lower her shirt. “Sorry about my daughter, Em. I never could instil table manners into her.”
“It’s quite alright,” Em replied with a laugh. “Never saw much need for them, myself.”
“Hmmm.” Janet glanced at Em out of the side of her eyes. “And Claire, I must have knocked the dial by accident.”
“Twice in a row?”
Claire glanced at Em’s plate, where only the stalks and cores of fruit remained. Claire was still waiting for the day she woke up craving fruit for breakfast, but until then, cereal would do. She poured a bowl of corn flakes and topped it with milk and a sprinkle of sugar.
“Don’t get smart just because we have a guest.” Janet dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a tissue. “You’ve always been like this.”
Em chuckled, but Claire was too tired to defend herself from her mother’s obvious deflection.
“Remember what I said about the shower,” Janet said to Em as she stood, cup and saucer in hand. “Help yourself to anything. Shampoo, soap, toothbrush . . . razors. I have spare of everything, and I want you to make yourself right at home.”
“Thank you.” Em grabbed Janet’s free hand, not seeming to pick up on the particular tone of her voice when she’d said ‘razors’. “Your hospitality would rival a five-star hotel’s, truly.”
Even before she looked at her, Claire knew her mother would be smiling from ear to ear. To Janet, there could be no higher compliment. Claire decided not to tell Em the impressive spread would be laid out every warm morning, guests or not.
“You’re far too kind,” Janet said, patting Em’s exposed, tattooed shoulder. “I always knew I liked you.”
When they were alone, Claire finished her cereal in silence while Em closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sun. The laughter-filled smile she’d had around Janet had faded to something that reflected the tiredness Claire felt. Considering the news of her unwanted inheritance immediately following her grandmother’s death, Claire was surprised Em had managed to raise a smile at all.
“Are you meditating or enjoying the sun?” Claire asked after draining her cereal bowl of the slightly sweetened leftover milk.
“Is there a difference?” Em smiled softly as she opened her eyes. “Meditation comes in many forms, Claire, and taking a moment to appreciate the warmth of the sun on your skin is sometimes all that’s needed to brighten your soul.”
Claire closed her eyes and faced the sun, but her mind immediately tried dragging her back to sleep. Yawning, she reopened them; she’d try it again another time.
“I must admit, it was rather strange sleeping on solid ground again,” Em said as she looked around the garden. “As comfortable as the sofa was, something about the rocking of the boat soothes me.”
Em hadn’t wanted to spend the evening alone after the news, and Claire hadn’t been able to accept Em’s offer of a sleepover on the boat; even the thought made the corn flakes in her stomach want to repeat on her. Thankfully, Em had been more than happy to accept Claire’s offer of her parents’ sofa, much to her mother’s initial horror.
“I’m much more of a land person myself,” Claire said, leaning back in her chair to unbutton the tight jeans. “Speaking of which, I can’t bear another day of walking around in the result of my mother’s stress cleaning. Think it’s time to buy a new pair of jeans since my two favourites are now trying to cut me in half.”
“Ever thought of buying second-hand?” Em asked after swallowing her orange juice. “There’s a fabulous little charity shop called Still Loved in the village. I’m sure you could find something in there.”
“Bought this from there,” Claire said, pulling at her comfortable vintage Spice Girls concert t-shirt. “Considering how I need to save every penny right now, that’s not a bad idea.”
“We could go together,” Em suggested, “if you have no plans for the morning.”
Claire’s bed called to her through the bedroom window, but it would have to wait until later in the afternoon. Despite the smile on Em’s face, Claire could see the truth in her eyes. She still didn’t want to be alone, and Claire wasn’t going to leave her.
“Let’s do it,” Claire said as she stood. “But first, coffee.”
“And I think I’ll take that shower your mother so kindly offered.” Em finished her orange juice and rose. “After months of using the gym’s facilities, it will be quite novel to shower in an actual home.”
In the kitchen, Janet measured out the ingredients for a cake – no doubt for a church fête or raffle. She peered over her glasses, and her ‘we have guests’ smile appeared when she saw Em.
“Really, do help yourself to anything,” Janet called after Em as she climbed the stairs to the bathroom. “I laid out everything you might need.”
Claire whipped a tea towel against her mother’s arm before closing the door to the hallway. She waited to glare until she heard the shower running above them.
“I told you!” Janet stated, her smile dropping entirely. “It’s so obvious, don’t you think?”
“Oh, Mother—”
“No, Claire!” Janet pulled off her chained glasses and planted her hands on her hips. “I’m correct about this. I don’t trust the woman one bit. Spent the whole morning trying to convince me she didn’t want Starfall House, but it didn’t wash with me. She somehow wormed her way into that will. I can feel it in my waters.”
“Maybe your waters need checking?” Claire grabbed a large mug from the cupboard. “Em wasn’t the only one left something.”
“But she got the house!” Janet stabbed her finger down on the marble island. “Nobody in Northash would say no to owning Starfall, but we’re supposed to believe Little Miss Tree Hugger doesn’t want it? Poppycock!” She crammed her glasses back on and continued mixing the beige cake batter. “And what other people? After Jane, Em was Opal’s last heir.”
“She didn’t say,” she said, before quickly adding, “and I didn’t ask.”
“Why ever not?” Janet rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Claire, it’s like I didn’t raise you at all! You stayed up until the crack of dawn talking in the garden. It must have come up.”
“If you were eavesdropping so much, Mother,” Claire whispered as she leaned close to Janet’s ear, “then you would have heard how upset she was, and how she wanted to talk about anything except the death of her grandmother.”
“Avoiding the obvious, more like.” Janet slapped Claire’s hand away as she reached to scoop out some batter with her finger. “Em did it, Claire, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she bumped off her grandmother to speed things up a little.”
“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” Claire put the mug under the spout of her beloved espresso machine. “I trust her. More to the point, I like her. Don’t you feel calm around her?”
“Calm?” Janet poured the batter into a lined baking tin. “I’ve never felt more on edge! I was waiting for her to slip me some arsenic in my tea like she did her mother – and probably her grandmother too! Natural causes in the middle of all this? Pfft! Didn’t dare put my cup down.”
The machine roared as it ground enough beans for the double espresso Claire so desperately needed to revive herself.
“You’re being ridiculous, Mother.”
“Mark my words!” Janet glanced up at the ceiling. “I bet she’s up there with her ear to the floor listening to every word we’re saying right now.”
“Why would anyone want to do that?”
“Bec
ause she knows I’m onto her,” she hissed. “Why else do you think she’s sticking to you like glue? She knows what you did at the factory. She’s scared you’re going to rumble her. Keep your enemies close.”
Before Claire could tell her mother Em was the last woman who would ever call anyone her ‘enemies’, the back door opened and her father, Alan, walked in. For once, he didn’t trip on the step even without his cane. It seemed like he was having a good foot day, but the frown in his brow said otherwise.
“You too?” Claire asked as she collected her coffee and joined him at the table.
“What’s that, dear?”
“Wrong side of the bed.” The first sip of coffee made her feel instantly better. “You look like I feel.”
“Oh.” He gave one laugh, but it lacked its usual depth. “I suppose you could say I had a lot on my mind last night. I’d hoped you’d come home before I fell asleep, but you know I can’t stay up as late as I used to.” He paused and yawned. “Maybe I’m getting old after all.”
“Nonsense,” Claire said with a wink. “What’s on your mind, Dad?”
Alan considered his words for a moment; his conflicted expression was one Claire rarely saw from him. She could almost see how much was on his mind, but he didn’t seem to know where to start. It was a look she’d expect from her mum but not her dad.
“I don’t want you investigating Jane’s murder anymore,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared at the black cherry candle in the centre of the table.
Claire opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
“I’m not saying I don’t trust you,” he continued, “because I do. But I met with Ramsbottom yesterday, and he’s given me a lot to think about. He remembered I worked on a similar case a long time ago and wanted to pick my brains.”
“What case?” she said, finding her voice again.
“Another poisoning,” he revealed, finally looking up at her. “It was around the time your mother first started working at the post office, so before you were born. We found a man locked in his house, and he’d been that way for months. Wasn’t old. Twenty, if that. Neighbours complained about the smell, so we kicked the door down. It was the same as the tearoom. You don’t forget a smell like that. I knew what we’d find the moment Sally got that attic door open, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud.”
