Martha is already on her way, feet on the bottom step, but I turn towards Charlie who is standing looking as though he’d much rather be somewhere else.
“As for you, young man,” Rory says to Charlie. “I’ve got some kilts and jackets laid out on the table in the dining room if you want to go through and try some on for size.” He points down the long corridor. “First door on the left.”
Charlie shoots me a ‘rescue me’ look but I ignore him and follow Martha up the stairs.
“Ah, ladies,” Rhona says, beckoning Martha and I towards the open door she is standing in front of. “I thought I heard voices. I’ve got some stunning dresses for you to try on.”
Inside the room it’s like some kind of designer clothes grotto. Evening gowns of all colours and fabrics are laid out on the bed, over chairs and hanging on a posh padded clothes rail.
“I think you’re both about the same size aren’t you?” Rhona says, looking us up and down.
“I’m a bit taller,” Martha replies then adds with a superior smile, “And fuller on the bust too.”
Yeah, we all know about Martha’s bust, thanks to her generously displaying it from behind towels and low cut jumpers these past few days for Charlie’s benefit.
“I thought this would be a good colour on you,” Rhona says, offering me a dark blue velvet dress with delicate straps.
Martha surveys me with a thoughtful expression on her face as I stand next to the mirror with the dress clasped in front of me. “Yeah, that colour does work, you’re right, good choice.” Turning away she adds, “It must be so difficult finding colours that look right with your skin and hair. You’re kind of in no man’s land aren’t you? Not an exciting red head and not a sexy blonde either are you?”
“My mum calls it strawberry blonde,” I say automatically, remembering the times my mum told me as a child how lucky I was to have such unusual hair.
“Sure, yeah, I guess you could say that,” she says. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”
How can she make the simplest, seemingly harmless, comment have such an undertone to it? Clearly she thinks my hair colour is beyond boring.
“I think your hair is gorgeous,” Rhona chips in, bless her, and I want to give her a hug.
Even though I think the first dress could be ‘the one’ I try on plenty of others just to be sure and also to enjoy every second of the ‘dress up’ session, even though I’m sharing the occasion with bitchy Martha. By the time we’re finished and heading back downstairs I realise it’s well over an hour since we parted from Charlie who was off to do some dressing up of his own. We find Rory and Charlie in the lounge, a fire blazing in the grate; the Labrador sprawled fast asleep on the hearth rug. Rory is sitting in a wingback chair near the fire, a glass of something alcoholic in hand. Charlie is sitting on the sofa looking as though he wished we’d been ready an hour ago.
“That was fun,” Martha says with a surprisingly girlish giggle as we all get into the rental car after saying our thanks to Rory and Rhona. From the backseat she leans forward, resting a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “We’ve got some stunning dresses to wear on Saturday. You’ll be feeling so lucky escorting us to the Big House.”
Charlie flicks a look across at me but says nothing.
When we arrive in London we go straight from the airport to the address we have for Melissa Garrison. On the third insistent ring of the doorbell she answers. Wrapped in a dressing gown it looks as though we’ve got her out of bed.
“Mrs Garrison, sorry to bother you,” Charlie says smoothly. He flashes his ID badge and she squints at it for a moment before recognition dawns. “I’m Charlie Huxton and this is Amber Reed. You may recall we were with Constable McKenna when he spoke to you at the police station on Farra.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” She frowns. “What are you doing here? Have you found out who killed him?”
“Not yet,” Charlie replies. “But we do have something we need to discuss with you. We’ve just flown in to London and would love a cup of tea.”
“Oh.” She looks momentarily put out but then remembers her manners and politely adds, “Of course, please come in.”
We follow her into the kitchen and I know we both spot her grab at two mugs on the table and put them out of sight in the sink.
Two mugs?
Switching on the kettle she gets some clean mugs from a shelf and starts making tea. By the time she’s placed the mugs on the table and sat down opposite us she looks distinctly uncomfortable.
“Once again, we’re sorry to disturb you at this difficult time,” Charlie says. “Will someone else be joining us?
“Someone else?” She shakes her head. “No, not at all.”
“Just wondered,” he continues. “With there being two mugs on the table just now.”
“Oh, that’s just me forgetting to tidy away my things from before.”
“So you’re alone then?” I ask.
“Look, please, just tell me why you’re here. I’m not really feeling up to accepting visitors or being sociable at the moment.”
“Records show that you booked your flight to Farra before you officially knew about your husband’s murder,” I say, watching her closely, checking her reaction.
She dissolves into tears, reaching for a bundle of tissues and hiding her face from further scrutiny.
“Mrs Garrison, why did you book that flight?” I ask, deliberately keeping my voice soft and non-confrontational like I’ve been taught to by the agency.
I exchange looks with Charlie, wondering what we’re supposed to do now – just sit here feeling awkward and uncomfortable while she sobs into yet more tissues?
Eventually she says, “I knew.”
“Knew what?” Charlie prompts.
“I knew what he was getting up to on that island beside trying to hide from fans and doing this GeoComm Scotia consultancy stuff.” She pauses for a moment then, in almost a whisper, adds, “I knew about her.”
I nod. “I see. So you were going to Farra to…”
“Confront him, yes.”
I glance at Charlie. Is he going to ask or shall I? “How did you find out about the woman?”
“Flynn told me all about her.” She sniffs and shakes her head. “He told me over the phone would you believe? Talk about taking the coward’s way out.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “Can you tell us her name?”
“No. He wouldn’t go into details. All he said was that he knew her when he was at university in Edinburgh. They dated. Well, the term he used was that they were in a serious relationship.”
“So what happened?” Charlie asks. “Have they been in touch all this time?”
“No.” She sighs. “By the time they finished university Flynn was heavily into his music and the band was starting to get noticed. This woman wasn’t happy about all the pubs and clubs and drinking. They split up. About a year after university they apparently met up again when Flynn was visiting Edinburgh. They had a couple of nights together then Flynn got the call he’d dreamed of for ages. His band had been signed up to do a support act for a huge tour. He raced off to London and that was it. He said they didn’t see each other again until he started the work for Geocom Scotia and visited Farra and spotted her on the island. He realised she had a child. A boy. The child is his son from those few days they spent together in Edinburgh. She never told him. Once he knew he wanted to turn his life upside down. Typical selfish Flynn. He wanted a divorce so he could go and live with her and the boy. Said he’d got a whole new life planned for the three of them together.”
“And did you agree to his request for a separation?” I ask.
“I didn’t know what to do, say or think at the time but then, when I did decide, I booked a flight to go and see the coward face to face and tell him I wouldn’t grant him an easy divorce. I was going to contest it.” She lifts her head and fixes a gaze on me that’s full of pain. “He had a child with this woman. A family. I’ve wanted to start a family fo
r years but he always had an excuse. Now wasn’t the right time, he’d say. He wasn’t ready to have his life constrained by babies. There was always something. Some excuse why we couldn’t start a family.”
She wipes at her eyes and sniffs. “Why did he want a child with her but not with me?” she finishes, her voice faint. “I was his wife.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, not able to think of anything else. I look at Charlie but he’s fiddling with the handle on his mug and staring at the table. Charlie’s not brilliant on the emotional side of things. “I know it’s no consolation but he didn’t choose to have a child with her. It happened. He didn’t know he had a son until recently.”
“But when he did find out, suddenly he comes over all parental. He could have just offered to pay her some kind of maintenance and left it at that but no, he wanted to get involved. To be a family.”
Silence hangs heavily in the room.
“I’m going to be a laughing stock,” she finally says, still sniffling. “The press will have a field day with this one. The journalists will dig and dig and they’ll find out and the Scottish tart will tell her story and it will be all over the papers. I’ll have no dignity left.”
“Mrs Garrison we have been unable to track down the woman your husband was involved with, we don’t even know her name so it’s unlikely the papers will have found her.” Charlie shoots me a look which silently adds, “Not yet anyway.”
“It’s true,” I say, trying to offer her a shred of consolation. “All we know is the possible name of Luke for the little…” The rest of the sentence dries up in my mouth as I see the stricken look on her face. Sugar. I shouldn’t have mentioned the child’s name.
“They have a boy called Luke?” she says wringing the tissue in her hands so much it is rapidly disintegrating and little white flecks are falling onto the table.
I nod.
Staring at her hands which are now in her lap she says, “Luke is a beautiful name. It’s a name I’ve had on my list for a while.”
Charlie leans forward. “List?”
“Yes. I had a book of baby names and I made a list of my top ten names for a boy and the same for a girl. Luke was number five on my list.”
“Oh.” Charlie leans back an uncomfortable expression on his face again.
Pushing to my feet I say, “We’ll leave you in peace, Mrs Garrison. If we have any further questions we’ll be in touch. Take care of yourself OK? You’ve had a huge shock.”
“Two huge shocks,” she replies. “At least, now he’s gone, we won’t have to go through the whole acrimonious divorce, have the world’s media sensationalising everything, be hounded by paparazzi.”
Next we grab a taxi and head over to try to have a chat with Marshall Coombs.
The door is answered by a teenage girl with hair dyed green and heavy make-up. “Yeah?” she says, leaning on the doorframe and looking disinterested.
“We were hoping to speak to Marshall Coombs,” Charlie says.
The girl spins on her heel “Dad! Some people at the door for you.”
She walks off without inviting us in and for a moment we both stay where we are on the doorstep, waiting to see what happens next. A man appears from a room down the hallway, his face clouding over at the sight of us. Charlie introduces us and we show our ID badges.
“Come in,” he says, stepping aside for us to enter the hallway. “I assume this is about Garrison.”
He gestures for us to walk down the hall and go into a room which turns out to be the kitchen.
“Drink?” he asks, lifting the kettle questioningly.
“No thanks,” I reply.
“Me neither,” Charlie adds. “Thanks anyway.”
“So what do you want to know then?” Coombs asks as he flops onto a chair at the large pine kitchen table. He doesn’t fit the image of a pop star at all. Judging by the age of his daughter who answered the door I’m thinking Coombes must have been the oldest member of the band. With his short dark hair and clean-shaven face he still doesn’t seem old enough to have a teenage daughter though.
“When was the last time you spoke to Flynn Garrison?” Charlie asks.
“Last month. There was a formal meeting of the band about some legal stuff. We didn’t really speak to each other much. Just the usual pleasantries. I’m sure you heard we didn’t really get along. Had a row not long ago.”
“What was the row about?” Charlie asks.
“A woman.”
“You’re married?” I say.
“Yes. First time for me but second time for my wife. Hence the challenging teenager for a step daughter. We’re happily married though. Garrison wasn’t. I found out about this woman he’d been secretly seeing. Well, found out is probably the wrong way of telling you. That makes it sound as though I questioned him about his life. I didn’t. He told me. Said he was fed up with the lifestyle, the fame, his marriage. Said he wanted to pack it all in and go and live on some Scottish island with some woman he’d met up with again. I told him not to be so stupid. We were living the dream, the band was doing brilliantly. Guy was crazy to want to walk away from all that and from his marriage. Melissa is lovely. Why would he want to leave her?”
“Do you know anything at all about this woman in Scotland? A name? When or how they met?” I ask.
“He would never tell me her name. Originally I think they knew each other when they were at university. Said he met her more recently on the island of Farra.”
“How long ago was this?” Charlie says as he takes out a notepad and pen. “When did they meet on Farra?”
For a moment Coombs looks thoughtful, as though he’s trying to assemble snippets of memory in the correct order.
“About two years ago probably. We’d just finished some intensive writing and recording for our latest album. Most of us were off somewhere hot and sunny where we could lie on the beach and chill for a week or so. He said he needed some space and was going to a remote Scottish island all alone. Booked himself into a posh hotel. That was where he met her again. He said it was love.”
“Were you aware the relationship had been continuing these past few years? That they had a child together?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, well, kind of. I didn’t know for definite but I suspected as much. After he met her again he changed. All the time he wanted to go back to the island. Even bought a house there. He was distancing himself further and further from Melissa. She spoke to my wife Lara a couple of times about how he was always away and how she wanted to start a family but he didn’t. It was a mess. I feel so sorry for Mel. We all do. She deserved better than the way Garrison treated her.”
“OK, well thanks for talking to us.” Charlie gets to his feet. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
Outside on the pavement Charlie gives me a look I’ve come to recognise as his we’re-on-to-something face. He has it when another little piece of whatever puzzle we’re working on for a case falls into place. “I think we might have found out what triggered Garrison’s desire to ditch his life down here and head up to Scotland.”
I’m just closing the gate behind us when my phone rings and I see James’ name. “Hi, I thought you were off sunning yourself somewhere with Faye.”
“We were but it was only for a couple of days. We’re back now. How’s things?”
“Things are OK.” I catch Charlie’s eye and mouth that it’s James on the phone. “We’re in London doing some interviews with suspects.”
“London? How long for? Want to meet for a coffee or something?”
“We’re flying back to the island later tonight.” I don’t add that it’s because I want to go to the dance up at the Big House. James is pretty easy going but I don’t want to sound unprofessional.
“Got a spare hour to meet up then?” he asks.
“Just a second.” I turn to Charlie. “James is in London. He’s asking if we want to meet up for a drink?”
He nods his approval. “Sure. Tell him the usual place in thirty minut
es.”
I raise an eyebrow. Usual place? Do James and Charlie meet up regularly for a drink then?
“Charlie says we’ll meet you at the usual place in thirty minutes. Does that sound OK with you?”
“Absolutely. See you guys soon.”
Charlie calls a taxi and we arrive at a huge book shop with a coffee shop upstairs. James is already waiting for us. I hug him hello and he claps Charlie on the back.
“I’ll go and get us some drinks. What do you want?” he says.
We give him our order.
“Faye not joining us?” Charlie asks.
“No, she’s gone to indulge herself with a bit of retail therapy,” James replies. “Take a seat. I’ll be back in a minute with the refreshments.”
As James waits to be served I notice three women sitting at a table near the counter giving him the once over. I’m not surprised. He’s about six foot with a mop of thick black hair and the darkest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. I don’t know his age but I’d guess he’s maybe a few years older than Charlie and I.
“Here we go,” he says as he places the drinks on our table along with a plate of chocolate chip muffins.
“Did you have a good holiday?” Charlie asks as he reaches for one of the muffins.
James nods. “Yeah, brilliant, thanks. The agency rang earlier today though. They’ve got another case for me to start on but it means me heading back to work a few days earlier than planned.”
“Told Faye yet?” Charlie asks, assuming, knowing James, that he’s accepted the new case.
“No, not yet.” James leans back in his chair and rubs a hand across his face. “She’ll go berserk.”
“Ah!” Charlie smiles. “So that’s why she’s off on a shopping spree is it? You’re softening her up, getting her in a good mood, before you tell her.”
“Something like that, yeah,” James replies with a you-caught-me look.
I can’t help think it would have been great if the agency had sent James to Farra instead of Martha.
Precious: A Humorous Romantic Cozy Mystery (Amber Reed Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency Mystery Book 2) Page 9
