Mr Cool interrupted my rush of words by pressing his lips against mine. ‘That’s not why I wanted to speak to you,’ he said once he had released me. He sat on a desk top and crossed his ankles. The material of his trousers emphasised his taut thighs, his shirt hugging the muscular set of his shoulders. His cool, blue eyes lingered on my face and his mouth lifted in a faint smile.
‘Well,’ I prodded. ‘Did you want to lecture me or to apologise?’
‘Why would I need to apologise?’
‘You seriously think you have nothing to apologise for?’
Mr Cool unhooked his ankles, smoothed the material over his thighs as he stretched his legs wide then leant back on the desk, hands splayed behind him. I couldn’t help my eyes from wandering to his crotch.
‘This desk,’ he said coolly. ‘Is very sturdy.’
I arched an eyebrow.
‘Hmmm,’ he continued. ‘The school’s practically empty.’
‘Apart from my child in the next room.’
Mr Cool jumped to his feet and rubbed his hands together. ‘At least I know you’re still interested.’
‘How can you be certain?’
‘Because you didn’t say no.’
‘I didn’t say yes.’
‘But you didn’t say no.’
The room suddenly felt smaller and hotter so I left before he offered to cool me down.
Posted: 16:15 0 Sazements
***
Hands, Unknown.
‘I hope you’re hungry.’
I hadn’t thought of food but as soon as I opened the door to Mr Nice, I realised I was. I stood aside for him and Sam to enter with the trays they were carrying. Mr Nice further burdened by a carrier bag hooked over one arm. Sam carried her tray into Daughter’s room and they kicked the door shut; once together they wouldn’t notice if a bomb landed on the bed between them.
‘Dining room?’ Mr Nice asked.
I led him through the kitchen and into the dining room. I hadn’t used it properly since Mr Him had left. Mr Nice chivvied around, opening and closing the dresser drawers until he found the place mats and glasses. It was nice to have someone else take over and I sunk gratefully onto a chair. He opened a bottle of low alcohol wine and laid a plate in front of me, lifting off the cover to reveal an omelette and a scoop of white mashed potato. I wondered if it was fresh out of a packet.
‘Omelette and mash?’ I asked.
Mr Nice slipped into the seat opposite and nodded. ‘I thought chips might be painful for you to eat.’
‘Thanks.’ I smiled hesitantly as I lifted a forkful of the mash to my mouth. It was fluffy and best of all, cheesy. I cut the omelette and watched in appreciation as melted cheese oozed from the slice and bacon aroma danced in the rising steam. ‘This is one of the best meals I’ve ever had.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’ Mr Nice smiled shyly.
‘It’s absolutely fantastic,’ I said in admiration. ‘My omelettes always fall apart.’
Mr Nice beamed. ‘This is simple. Eggs, cream, herbs, cheese, onion and smoked bacon slivers.’
‘Be careful,’ I warned. ‘Or I’ll be knocking on your door if all of your cooking is as gorgeous.’
‘I always wanted to own a café. Think coffee bar meets hot, home-made meals, something modern yet cosy.’
‘Then why haven’t you?’
Mr Nice shrugged. ‘I never had the guts, besides Kelly wasn’t keen.’
I winced at the mention of her name. ‘Could you afford to?’ I asked bluntly.
Mr Nice blushed. ‘I have a trust fund I’ve never touched.’
‘Why?’
Mr Nice raised his eyes to me. ‘Kelly would’ve wrung every single penny from me quicker than you could say spin-dry.’
‘What’s stopping you now?’ I prodded. ‘Unless you’re planning on winning her back?’ The question hung heavy in the air.
Mr Nice shook his head very slowly. ‘I wouldn’t want her back now if she offered me a million quid. I love her but I could never trust her. I’ve begun proceedings for divorce.’ He continued to tell me all about it.
‘If I can help, please holler —bugger, who’s that?’ The buzzing of the intercom disturbed us.
Mr Nice gestured for me to remain seated.
‘Who?’ I asked as he returned.
Mr Nice shrugged. ‘I dunno, someone who knows you. I’ll wash this lot up. How about dinner tomorrow, the four of us again?’
‘That’d be lovely,’ I replied, realising I meant it.
Mr Nice gathered up the trays.
‘YOU!’ I accused as the visitor came into the dining room. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Light shafted from the ceiling lampshade and cut white knife patterns across the hair atop of my intruder.
‘Well?’ Jealously, I wished I could cut the hair with the light-knives.
The visitor laughed a tinkling laugh and tossed her mane of hair over her shoulder. ‘Calm down.’
‘Calm down?’ I spluttered. ‘I don’t even know you. I suppose I should be grateful you’re at least wearing clothes.’
‘I’m Darrelle.’ She strode towards me and offered a slim, manicured hand which I felt compelled to shake. ‘May I?’ She gestured to a dining chair.
I found myself nodding in agreement. Two days ago I’d wanted to jab Mr Cool’s female companion’s eyes out with the heel of my boot, now, peering into her almond-shaped eyes, I was drawn to her. ‘Why are you here? Are you about to tell me how happy the pair of you are?’
Darrelle’s laugh wove like a summer’s breeze. ‘No.’
‘So he’s told you about me?’
Darrelle smiled. ‘Yes.’
Her serenity wound me up. ‘You won’t see me again. Unless, of course, you decide to pay me another unannounced visit.’
‘I wasn’t expecting company the evening you arrived,’ Darrelle continued. ‘I was waiting for my lover.’
‘Then he returned with another woman,’ I said hollowly. ‘You must hate me.’
Darrelle smiled her infuriating smile. ‘We’re not lovers. He’s my housemate. My lover was in the basement, also selecting a bottle of my vintage champagne.’ Darrelle smiled once again and this time it didn’t annoy me.
‘I’ve been such an idiot!’
‘No,’ soothed Darrelle. ‘It was an easy assumption to reach. Sorry I didn’t have the chance to explain at the time but I was at somewhat of a disadvantage.’ Darrelle unfurled her long legs. ‘I meant to telephone but I figured this would be better.’ She passed me a business card. ‘Call, if you need anything. I noticed the bruising to your neck. I imagine it’s painful.’
‘I didn’t think it was so noticeable.’
‘I’m just used to helping people with their ailments.’
I studied her card. It was black with a gold outline of a cat and her full name, Darrelle Winteres, a contact number and profession, massage therapist.
‘May I try something to alleviate your tension?’ She moved to stand behind me.
‘How do you know I’m tense?’
‘I know about the attacks. Do you mind moving to the comfortable seat?’ She pointed to the futon which occupied the area by the dining room window.
I laid on my front and Darrelle gently moved the length of my hair to one side and eased my top off my shoulders. Her hands moved across my shoulders and down my shoulder blades, her fingers light yet firm. The hairs on my head prickled as tingles rippled my skin. Her hands stroked and kneaded until my arms felt like jelly.
‘Better?’ She removed her hands.
‘Much. You have magic hands.’ I smiled warmly as I adjusted my top and sat up. ‘Did your man return with the champagne, was there a fight over which bottle they wanted?’
Darrelle shook her head. ‘No, my girl relieved the thieving bugger of my best bottle. Mind you, she was also naked so I guess in that situation she was at an advantage. Call me, I offer wonderful full body massages which you would find utterly divine. N
o charge.’
Posted: 18:50 11 Sazements
SxyGrrl: I have an unexpected visitor too! Sister-bitch is here! She’s in the conservatory sobbing into G’s shoulder. I may not be held accountable for my actions. Grrrr!
Saze Monnivan: OMG what are you going to do? Is she staying at G’s too? Can you trust her?
GeoffBD: I do happen to have a phone if you girls haven’t realised. The sister is somewhat immature compared to her, sexy, older, sister.
SxyGrrl: What’s with the older? There’s barely 5 years difference!
GeoffBD: You may as well come out of the bathroom now I know what you’re doing in there. We can comment together as some hybrid. How about “SxyGeoff” or “GeoffGrrl” (er maybe not!) or how about you change your name to “EmmaBD”?
SxyGrrl: Why would I change my tag to EmmaBD? What would the BD stand for? Bad and Dim?
GeoffBD: Why are we talking through Saze’s blog lol? The BD would mean the same as it does in my tag; Benedict Dorian. Marry me, Emma.
Saze Monnivan: OMFG I’m actually crying! Can I come to the wedding? It started with a Blomance, now it’ll be a Blorriage!
SxyGrrl: I said YES! Is it too sudden, am I being an idiot?
GeoffBD: NO! Well maybe a little considering you’ve left me with the weeping sister! Get out here! Don’t you want your ring?
Saze Monnivan: There’s already a ring? *Sigh* I’m jealous…I mean happy. CONGRATULATIONS. Chuck the weeping sister out and crack open the champagne!
***
Tuesday, 12th March 2013
Slice of Euphoria.
07:30
“I have a free space at one. Shall I pencil you in? D x”
“Please, I could do with another magic neck massage. S x”
I was saving Darrelle’s number to my phone when another text message beeped its arrival.
“Can you stay for early drinks after? D x”
I contemplated it. Mr Cool would still be at school at that time, Daughter also. I could have one, couldn’t I?
“I make a delish strawberry coconut cocktail. D x”
‘Look out of the window!’ Daughter screamed from her bedroom as I thumbed my response.
I drew up the kitchen blind. A heavy blanket of snow covered the grass. I unlocked the back door and poked my head out. Cold flakes flew down to greet me, melting on the warmth of my cheeks. Trees which usually stood proud and tall around the garden perimeter now drooped with their snowy burden and the sound of the early morning traffic was noticeably absent.
‘Yay, no school today!’ Daughter broke the white silence.
‘No,’ I agreed, drawing her back into the warmth of the kitchen. Relief, like the snow, settled peacefully; I’d been dreading the school run.
08:30
Daughter and Sam, wrapped in warm clothing, charged, screaming, into the snow-filled garden surrounding the building. Being the only children in the building was a bonus at such a time. Mr Nice and I retreated to the warmth of my dining room to watch them play.
‘They’ll be out there all day if we let them.’ I groaned. ‘I was supposed to be going for a treatment today, to ease my neck pain.’
‘You’ll have to rearrange,’ Mr Nice commented absentmindedly. ‘I thought about what you said about setting up my own café.’
‘And?’
‘There’s an empty unit in the parade of shops opposite the harbour, it already has an A3 Use Class.’
I whistled. ‘I bet the rent is astronomical being right by the harbour.’
Mr Nice blushed. ‘I’m going to buy it and I’d like you to work for me. Although I haven’t seen, or tasted, a lot of your baking, your daughter told me about your amazing cake baking talents.’
‘You’re relying on the word of an eleven-year-old?’
Mr Nice shook his head. ‘She showed me the photo of her birthday cake and the cupcake mountain you made for your cousin’s wedding. You can make cupcakes, large cakes to be sliced up, anything you want. I’ll provide the ingredients, sell them in the café, and we’ll split the profits straight down the middle. You can work whatever hours suit. What do you say?’ Mr Nice looked excited. ‘If they become really popular I was thinking we could even provide deliveries.’
My head fuzzed, it was an unbelievable offer. One I simply couldn’t refuse given my current employment status. ‘Yes!’ I screamed, jumping to my feet.
Mr Nice joined in on the jumping action. ‘It’s going to be so much fun!’
10:30
With a flourish I swirled orange butter-cream icing on the final chocolate chunk cupcake then sprinkled them with grated chocolate.
Mr Nice swiped one eagerly. ‘Delicious. These would look beautiful in individual boxes. I’ll take some out for the girls.’
My mobile rang as Mr Nice trudged into the garden.
‘Still on for later?’ Darrelle’s silky voice asked.
‘The school’s closed. It’ll be too difficult to get to you today.’
‘Leave it to me, I have a neighbour who owes me a favour,’ said Darrelle. ‘Your daughter’s more than welcome to come with you. There’s an abundance of virgin snow here, a few sleds somewhere in the barn and some stupendous slopes.’
‘She’ll want to play with her friend, sorry. Really, the snow’s so thick we won’t be able to get to you.’
‘Your daughter may bring her friend. It’d be lovely to have children’s laughter around this old place. Be ready for twelve thirty and don’t forget warm clothing!’ She rung off and left me staring at my phone.
‘Isn’t it working?’ Mr Nice stamped his feet on the kitchen door mat and nodded at my phone. ‘Is it broken?’
I told him about Darrelle’s invitation, he listened and eagerly munched not one but two more cupcakes before saying it would give him time to work on his café plan.
‘Oh,’ he said as he left to sort clothes out for Sam. ‘The newspapers have been left in a bundle by the main door if you wanted one.’
Posted: 11:15 0 Sazements
***
Eastcove Local; Ridiculously Vocal.
Can’t believe I forgot about the third body found at the weekend. The “Eastcove Local” was full of it:
“CUT-THROAT CASANOVA CUBES COMPASSION
The third body in a spate of local murders has been identified as that of Emily Andrews, 18. She was discovered by dog walkers in the early hours of Sunday 10th March.
Mr Hanover, 69, says, “Tinker ran off the path. I called her a dozen times. When she came back we noticed she had blood all over her white muzzle. We followed her into the bushes behind the golf club car park and that’s where we found it. It was like a horror film. My wife was sick all over the floor, she was even sick on the dog.”
In a bizarre twist of events Jenny Green, 17, reported missing around the same time as Emily Andrews, was found incoherent and naked along the coast road at 11.00 am on Sunday morning. It is not known how long she had been wandering. Jenny could not even say from which direction she had come. With a bloodied hand and injured feet from walking barefoot, Jenny somehow escaped the fate of the killer’s other victims.
We spoke to her mother, Anne Green, 51, who said, “Jenny was sitting on the cliff top listening to music when she felt a sting in her neck. She woke up in a really dark room and could hear crying. It was that murdered girl, Emily. When the lights came on, she could see she was in a big cage type thing, like a prison cell and the other girl was in one next to her.” At this point Mrs Green broke down in floods of tears. She continued her story with: “Jenny said sometimes someone came in and she was forced to take off her clothes.”
We asked Mrs Green if her daughter had seen her captor but she replied that she hadn’t. Mrs Green continued to tell us Jenny was injected in the neck and next she woke up on the coast road. Jenny is currently under police protection and undergoing psychological evaluation.
Is this the end to the murders? Will we ever discover the identity of the murderer in our midst?
Posted: 11:50 3 Sazements
Ribtool: I heard the dog ate most of the face and the flesh was cut into chunks. I wouldn’t trust this Jenny woman. Why was she allowed to live when others have been slaughtered? The profiler I’m working with says this is inconsistent behaviour for the murderer so she doesn’t believe Jenny was even in real danger. Maybe she’s a lure to lead other young women to their deaths?
KentNP: You are a disgusting person, “Ribtool”. Who is this supposed profiler? Is she even qualified? I heard the body was not dumped, but arranged quite particularly. What this means I do not know. I’m relieved Jenny survived. She is only a child, be considerate.
Ribtool: Of course she’s qualified. She worked with leading police officials for over ten years. The girl’s 17, I don’t consider this a child. The body was missing a finger again. My profiler’s devised a physical description, head over to “Rib Investigates” to read it.
***
Tit Tat.
The sound of bells clanging outside the front of the building enticed Daughter, Sam, and I from the warmth. A wooden sleigh, drawn by four magnificent Cobs, eased to a halt. My phone rang and I answered it automatically.
‘It’s for you,’ said the voice on the other end of the phone line. ‘The driver will bring you to me.’
‘Darrelle?’ I asked in wonder. ‘You have a sleigh?’
‘I have horses. I borrowed the sleigh.’
‘Who did you borrow it from? Santa?’
Darrelle chuckled. ‘My neighbour, he makes them for fairs and shows but don’t worry it’s not a toy. See you soon!’ she tinkled, terminating the connection.
Lies Love Tells (Eastcove Lies Book 1) Page 16
