Lexie shook her head. Her mother was a master of evasion when she wanted.
Jean carried on. ‘Your father had a work call even though he’s supposed to be on leave for a few days.’
‘So do you know her?’ asked Lexie.
‘Who? The person who rang your father? No idea. He works too hard and can’t ever say no to people.’
And she’d hoped for some rational adult conversation!
They found Alistair looking at Portal. Jean suddenly appeared to be in a hurry to leave, not waiting for Lexie to make any comments on the sculptures or meeting Dominique Santos.
‘I’m feeling quite light-headed and need to sit down,’ said Jean. ‘Let’s find somewhere nice for lunch. How about Pleasant Cove? We haven’t been there for years, have we, Alistair?’
‘The last time we were there, you’d have been about five, Lexie.’ He pulled out his phone. ‘I’ve got a great app here, works like GPS.’
They followed the directions until they reached the sea front at Pleasant Cove.
Later that night, when she and Nathan were in bed, she told him about Dominique Santos and how strange her mother had been.
‘Maybe she was just overawed at meeting the sculptor.’
‘No, it was more than that. There was definitely something weird about the whole thing. Especially as sculptures aren’t something Mum would want to see.’
Nathan propped himself up on the pillows. ‘Now the girls are organised, you’ll be able to look for a job if you want.’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Just that maybe you’re trying to make something out of things that probably have a rational explanation.’
‘Like what?’
‘Miriam, your so-called mystery woman, and Evelyn’s son, and now this thing with your mum.’
‘What about you with your compound and people coming and going?’
‘I only told you what I saw.’
Lexie stared at Nathan. ‘You think I’m making this up, or going nuts.’
‘Of course not. You’re just a bit lost at the moment with your redundancy and the move. It makes things appear more curious than they actually are. Miriam could be shy, or just not need a lot of friends. Perhaps Evelyn’s son got fed up with his life and decided to disappear. You don’t know any of the details. This is a massive change for you. I do understand.’
‘Why do you love me?’
‘You know I love you.’ He pulled her close and kissed her.
‘That’s not what I asked. Why do you love me? You’re so easy-going and laid-back. I know I’m hard work. I get angry and uptight over things. You’ve put yourself out for me most of the time we’ve been married, and I appreciate it, even if I don’t say it enough. I don’t begrudge you this chance at your work.’
Nathan kissed her again and wound one of her curls around his finger. ‘I’d get bored with anyone else. Life with you is never boring. You’re gorgeous and sexy, and you try so hard, even with things you don’t find easy. How could I not love you?’
For a long time after he’d fallen asleep, Lexie lay cuddled up to him, staring into the darkness. Losing him to some dolly-bird yes-girl like Astrid was something she’d worried about, although he’d never given her any reason to think that might happen. She didn’t know what she’d do without him.
Lexie thought of the look on her mother’s face when she had surprised her talking with Dominique Santos. She might not know Evelyn or Miriam well, but she knew her mother. There was definitely something going on.
6
The following morning, Jean said she and Alistair would take the twins out as it wasn’t a pre-school day. Fortunately, Tilly was happy to go to school so she could see Rachel and Miss Baker and wasn’t concerned she might miss out on some treats.
After coffee with Helen, Lexie wandered aimlessly past the shops on the main street. At home, she switched on her laptop and searched for recipes. Hopefully she’d find something simple but impressive for dinner to prove she wasn’t totally useless at cooking. After ten minutes fruitless searching, she sat back and shook her head. Everything looked as though it was fit for a dinner party of celebrity guests and as difficult to cook.
She flicked through a couple of the business websites she used to read, but they reminded her too much of her life in London. What about Dominique Santos? If her mother wouldn’t answer questions, she’d damn well find out what she could from the Internet.
Lexie hadn’t heard of Dominique before, but there were plenty of articles about her work and photographs of her exhibitions. Apparently the sculptures and garden art were a new direction, and she was better known as a painter, using the name Dominique Santosini. Lexie gasped as she saw how much one of Dominique’s earlier paintings had reached at a recent auction. She searched for some time but couldn’t find even a hint about Dominique’s personal life.
‘Nothing surprising about that I guess. Not everyone wants the world to know all their secrets.’ Lexie searched through social media sites, but the woman appeared to avoid them all. Lexie rested her head on her hand, tapping her finger against her lips. How could she find out more about this woman and the connection with her mother?
Her brain seemed to have turned to mush recently.
If she couldn’t find out anything about Dominique, perhaps she’d have more luck with Miriam. She found a number of links to women called Miriam Connell but none that fitted her neighbour. Maybe she’d changed her name. If she had, that was another brick wall.
Lexie wandered into the kitchen, muttering to herself. Work in London had never been this frustrating. What about Evelyn’s son, Patrick Sinclair? She was becoming more than a little nosy, but it didn’t stop her going back to the laptop and typing in Patrick’s name. There were many more relevant hits to search through. His articles were published in a number of magazines, but he wrote primarily for The Day newspaper. Lexie read through a number of his articles. The photo next to his by-line showed a man who might be a year or so older than her. She did a quick revision of her estimate of Evelyn’s age and guessed the lines on her face were due more to pain and the cancer treatment than age. In the photo, Patrick’s expression was serious, compounded somehow by the metal-framed glasses and light beard.
His stories were possible dynamite as he attempted to uncover dishonesty and exploitation in any form. Lexie read some older pieces from war-torn parts of the world. Those described the privation and deficiencies the local people suffered and his efforts to reveal the layers of corruption stopping the destitute getting the aid other countries provided. He was uncompromising in his writing and disdain of people who helped themselves at the expense of others. Lexie wondered how she’d missed these articles before. This was the type of writing she’d lived for at university.
Among the search results were links to the current story involving Patrick. Journalist identified in hit and run. Lexie scanned the page, and then selected other related links until she pieced together the story.
Initially, it had only been a couple of sentences. A young woman knocked down and killed on a London street. Then a witness came forward and identified Patrick Sinclair as the driver. The event now became newsworthy. Apparently the witness had checked the girl and called the police and ambulance, but she was confirmed dead by the paramedics.
The story ramped up a level when Patrick disappeared. The articles reported he hadn’t been seen since the hit and run.
Lexie leaned back in her chair. So much for Nathan glibly saying Patrick might have disappeared because he was fed up with his life. She frowned as she tried to remember what Evelyn had first told her. She was certain Evelyn had said it was Patrick’s girlfriend who had been killed. None of the reports mentioned that fact, or even her name. Lexie flicked back to some of Patrick’s articles. They were so at odds with him hiding away. Why would someone who felt this strongly over ethical behaviour not stand up and admit what he had done? Perhaps it wasn’t the accident everyone assumed.
&n
bsp; This was so hard on Evelyn. She was dying. He was acting as badly as any of the people he had investigated.
Lexie sighed and typed in a search for Veronica Hardcastle. In comparison to Patrick she was a grubby attention-seeker, generally going after weak, easy targets. Veronica didn’t bother with things such as evidence. Hearsay and innuendo appeared to be enough for her.
What wonderful neighbours they had.
Lexie pushed the laptop away and glanced around. Although she’d cleaned before her parents came, the children’s toys now littered the room. She frowned, grabbed the laptop again and opened a browser window. She searched through a varied selection and before she could second-guess herself, she ordered a book, Raising Your Children Without Going Insane.
The back garden was warm and sunny. Lexie pulled up some weeds and then cut roses for the house. What to do now? They needed more groceries. Perhaps she’d find an amazing dessert at the supermarket.
She mooched along the aisles, throwing items into the trolley. In London, she’d never had time to wander. Shopping was always a highly controlled task, part of a To-Do list with items to be checked off. Her life had been ruled by To-Do lists.
Lexie stopped at the rows of magazines and flicked through several before she spotted the latest edition of Icon. Inside was an interview with Dominique Santos by Veronica Hardcastle — obviously having the exhibition at Longcross House had come with a price for Dominique. Lexie skimmed the interview and decided to buy the magazine so she could read the article properly. It might give her some clues about Dominique. There were a number of photos showing the exhibited sculptures in the gardens, but only one of Dominique. From Lexie’s quick browse, the article didn’t appear to be in Veronica’s usual style and she wondered if Dominique had read any of Veronica’s work. She shrugged and chucked the magazine in the trolley.
Her parents still hadn’t returned by the time she’d put away all the shopping. They certainly weren’t shirking their grandparenting duties today. Unable to sit still, she strolled up the lane to visit Evelyn.
As she approached Evelyn’s back door a silhouette flitted across the kitchen. Evelyn couldn’t move that fast so it must be another visitor. It wasn’t Helen, or she’d have seen her car parked outside.
Lexie knocked on the door and opened it. ‘Hi, Evelyn. Just me, Lexie.’
‘I’m in the usual place.’ The words tumbled together, rushed. Lexie hadn’t known Evelyn for long, but she was usually calm and composed. It was one of the things Lexie enjoyed about her visits. Evelyn made her feel peaceful, and peace was certainly lacking in the rest of her life.
Evelyn’s fingers picked at the material of her dress and she avoided Lexie’s gaze.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, dear, I’m fine. You startled me a little.’
But Evelyn was used to people popping in. ‘You weren’t out in the kitchen just now, were you? Only I thought I saw someone.’
‘No, it’s just me. I haven’t been in the kitchen since I made my cup of tea at breakfast time.’ Evelyn’s fingers plucked harder at the fabric.
If that was so then Evelyn couldn’t have drunk any of it. Lexie didn’t pursue the matter.
‘Are you feeling all right? You don’t seem quite yourself.’
‘I’m a little tired. If you don’t mind, I think I could do with a rest.’
Lexie stood for a moment, uncertain exactly what to do or say.
‘Sorry. I’ll come back later.’
‘That would be lovely, perhaps tomorrow.’
Lexie paced back down the path. Something was wrong. Evelyn hadn’t once looked at her directly. Had someone broken into the house? They wouldn’t actually need to break in, because the door was unlocked through the day. Plenty of locals would know that. She should call the police. Lexie pulled out her phone.
It could just be a teenager. Evelyn was an easy target and they might assume she had money or jewellery they could steal. Lexie pushed the phone back into her pocket and went over to the wreck of the garage. She picked up a hefty piece of timber. That would do.
She strode back up the path, grimly holding the wood in front of her like a light sabre. She opened the door as quietly as she could and tiptoed across the kitchen floor and into the living room doorway.
‘Got you! What kind of cretin steals from someone who’s sick?’ She pointed the timber at the man next to Evelyn.
‘Lexie, dear, you’ve got it all wrong, but you’re such a sweetie to come back thinking I need help,’ said Evelyn.
The man looked like someone she had seen before, but where? Around Nettleford?
He sighed and shook his head. ‘You don’t need that.’
Lexie realised she was still holding the sooty piece of timber as if she were Luke Skywalker. She dropped her arm to her side but didn’t let go of the wood. The man patted Evelyn’s shoulder. He wasn’t wearing glasses and had shaved off his beard, but it was Patrick.
Evelyn must have seen the realisation dawn on her face. ‘Patrick did not do what the papers said. He wasn’t involved in that hit and run. Please don’t tell the police that he’s here.’
Lexie looked from Evelyn to Patrick. There was a look of pleading on Evelyn’s face, whereas Patrick wore an expression, not quite of resignation, but possibly of acceptance this was beyond his control.
Her throat was dry and she swallowed a couple of times before speaking. ‘I’ve read the newspaper reports about the incident, and I’ve also read some of your articles. Somehow, the two don’t seem to tally. I’ve no idea about the real you, or what actually happened.’ She took a breath and held the wood tightly, clenching her other hand into a fist so it wouldn’t shake. ‘I won’t tell anyone you’re here.’
Evelyn must have been holding her breath, as her sigh was audible. ‘Thank you, Lexie, dear. I know it’s not what you would want to do, but it’s so good to have Patrick here. He arrived late last night. It was such a wonderful surprise.’
Patrick hadn’t moved. He studied her intently. The corners of his mouth turned upwards slightly. ‘You’re doing it for Mum, aren’t you?’
Lexie stared at him before answering. ‘Yes. I’d prefer to call the police, but I think Evelyn needs you here, or at least to see you for a while.’
This was the opposite of all she believed, but Evelyn was obviously relieved to see him.
‘We’ll have to be more careful, Mum.’ He looked at Lexie. ‘Mum told me the time the nurse usually comes, but I didn’t hear you until you called out.’
That wasn’t her problem. ‘Do you want me to go?’ Lexie looked at Evelyn, she didn’t care what Patrick wanted. Evelyn’s well-being was all that concerned her. Patrick had obviously hurt his mother with all this trouble, although she continued to protest his innocence.
Evelyn answered without consulting her son. ‘Please stay. You’ve already discovered he’s here, and I’d like you to get to know Patrick better. I want other people to know he didn’t do that awful thing.’
Patrick shook his head in the way children do when parents say something that embarrasses them.
‘Help yourself to a drink,’ he said. ‘Probably better if I don’t make it, in case someone else comes along.’
‘Evelyn is very well thought of here, that’s why she has a lot of visitors.’ Lexie ignored Patrick’s offhand invitation and sat down in her usual seat opposite Evelyn.
‘You’re looking better anyway. I was worried when I first saw you. I thought you were ill, but then I realised your anxiety must be something else.’
It was true. Evelyn looked chirpier that she had for weeks. Whatever Patrick had done, at least his visit was good for her. He plumped up the cushions and rearranged her shawl before sitting on the stool next to her reclining chair. He remained quiet as Lexie and his mother talked, but every few minutes, Evelyn reached out and patted his hand or squeezed his shoulder.
Lexie always enjoyed visiting Evelyn, and usually she had no problem finding things to talk about. She w
as sometimes embarrassed at how much she’d confided in Evelyn. If anyone had ever asked her why she visited, she would probably have said it was the neighbourly thing to do, and she liked Evelyn. But if she were honest, there was more to it. She’d found a real friend in Evelyn, almost a surrogate mother. Evelyn was cheerful and positive, and Lexie always left the house feeling happier. Today, Lexie found it hard to relax. She wished Patrick wasn’t there, but that was selfish, his presence was obviously good for Evelyn.
Through their fragmented conversation, Lexie was aware of Patrick sitting on the stool and shot occasional glances at him. He smiled at his mother’s stories and occasionally added a comment, but mostly he let his mother and Lexie talk. She had promised Evelyn she wouldn’t tell anyone he was here, although she was uncomfortable with that undertaking.
Evelyn’s eyelids fluttered and closed a number of times. ‘Oh dear, all this excitement has made me a lot sleepier than usual.’
‘I should leave,’ said Lexie. ‘I don’t want to sap your energy.’
‘Not at all. You stay right there and talk to Patrick, but excuse me if I nod off. I hate being like this, it makes me feel old.’
Within a few minutes, Evelyn’s head drooped and she slept.
‘I’ll go,’ said Lexie.
‘You don’t have to rush off. I’m not going to make threats about the dire consequences of telling anyone I’m here. Obviously, I’d prefer you didn’t say anything, but I’m not exactly a threatening kind of person.’
She agreed with that, but he could still have planned an accident. ‘I promised Evelyn I wouldn’t say anything, and I won’t.’
‘Even though it’s against your principles?’
‘Yes. Evelyn needs to see you for a while. Whatever you might have done, you’re still her son and she loves you, and given her health, that’s important.’
‘Thank you.’ The words weren’t exactly grudging, but in his line of work he probably didn’t trust many people.
‘I’m really fond of Evelyn. Your mother is a special lady. There’s been stuff in my life recently I haven’t found easy, nothing close to your level of problems, but I guess it’s all relative. Although I haven’t known her for long, I’ve talked about things I haven’t been able to tell anyone else.’
Still Death (A Lexie Wyatt murder mystery Book 1) Page 5
