Suzy rubbed her eyes. ‘My mother’s cross with me for wasting the last of her money. I won’t be surprised if she tells you I did do it just to get back at me. She’s angry I won’t be coming into money. I’ve never been good enough for her. I’m not even a proper food critic and now I will be the talk of the town as the bride with the groom who was stabbed in the heart!’
* * *
‘You really should stop smoking,’ Suzy reprimanded her mother as they stood together, shivering, outside the police station while waiting for a taxi to collect them in the early hours of the next day.
Arabella defiantly sucked a long drag on her menthol cigarette. ‘I’ll be chain-smoking for the foreseeable future no thanks to you. Imagine what people will be saying. I’ll be traumatised for life!’
‘Don’t you think I’m traumatised? I was supposed to be a happily married woman by now but my groom ended up dying in the churchyard with a bloody great carving knife shoved in his heart!’
‘A groom you were planning on jilting,’ her mother’s voice lowered. ‘I saw you, touching that knife when it was in that poor boy’s chest. From where I was standing someone wouldn’t be mistaken in thinking you gave it a final push!’
Suzy’s jaw dropped in surprise. ‘I did not. I can’t believe you’d even think me capable of doing such a thing.’ She swallowed, she knew without a doubt that Simon had really been gone by the time she’d pulled the knife out. She’d spent enough time wailing and hugging his cold body to know that there had not been even so much of a faint breath left in him. ‘I didn’t want Simon dead, I can’t believe you’re even insinuating I would’ve finished him off. I loved him. If anything I just wanted the truth from him, to hear him tell me that he wasn’t in love with me and to explain why he had needed the pretence of marrying me.’
‘You’re already speaking about him in the past tense. You’ve come around to the idea of him being gone very quickly.’
‘I can never do anything right where you’re concerned, can I?’ Suzy’s voice rose as the realisation dawned that, in her mother’s eyes, she would never be good enough and ending up with a murdered groom on her wedding day proved exactly that. ‘I love Simon. Is that better? At the moment I can’t say I feel the same about you. Why can’t you just give me a cuddle and tell me everything is going to be okay? What’s got into you lately? You’ve really changed these past few weeks and I don’t know why but I know I don’t like it. It feels like my mother’s abandoned me when I need her the most…I may as well be an orphan!’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous!’ Her mother stubbed out her cigarette on the wall behind her. ‘You’re not the only one under stress, you know—’
Leaving her mother spluttering to herself, Suzy strode away as fast as was possible in a sodden, spoiled wedding dress.
‘Come back here, young lady! We have to talk about how your father and I will need to come and live with you when we lose the house,’ her mother shouted.
Suzy turned around briefly. ‘I pay for my house with the money made from my job writing for the paper. You don’t approve of that so I don’t expect you to lower yourself to living in my - what did you call it last week - dump of a shoebox?’
With albeit frozen but rigidly proud shoulders, Suzy stomped onto the street in her satin, heeled pumps and determinedly closed her ears to her mother’s screeching.
* * *
Suzy ignored the car slowing behind her and continued to limp along the darkened, winding lane leading from the town towards the outskirts where her small but cosy house lay. In the fifteen minutes she had been struggling through the two-inch deep snow for, a total of three cars had passed her. The first, driven by an elderly lady, had wobbled past without acknowledgement; the second, a taxi, had whizzed down the lane at a breakneck speed; and the third, occupied by a handful of noisy teenage boys, had slowed only to shout an interesting variety of micky-taking jibes.
Suzy waved without turning around, indicating for the current car to pass her by. In annoyance she realised it had no intention of doing so and turned to face it, plonking her hands on her hips.
‘Go on then,’ she screamed. ‘Give me the best piss-take you’ve got!’
The engine slowed and the car stopped, its headlights dazzling her. She heard a window buzz down.
‘What?’ Suzy bellowed. ‘Do you want a picture? I’m sorry I’m not looking my very best.’
‘No, I don’t want a picture,’ replied an amused voice. ‘I was going to offer you a lift.’
Suzy shielded her eyes. Why did the voice sound familiar?
There was the opening and closing of a car door before Detective Sanders’ tall frame drew into view. ‘Have you lost your mind? Walking along this road at this time in the morning is as good as signing your own suicide note. Get in the car, I’ll take you home.’
Suzy sniffed. ‘Are you allowed to do that?’
‘What, allow a murderous bride in my car? Yes, I think so.’
‘I’m not murderous.’
‘No, just crazy. Come on, your feet must be ready to drop off walking in this snow.’ He gestured to the sky. ‘It’s falling steadily now, it’ll be up to your ankles by the time you reach your home if you continue on foot.’
Suzy conceded and allowed him to show her to the passenger side of his car. Once nestled in the comfortable seat she slipped the sodden, satin pumps off her feet and wiggled her toes experimentally. Yup, uber painful.
‘Thank you, Detective Sanders,’ she said as he buckled up in the driver’s seat.
‘Please, call me Julian.’
Suzy folded her cold hands in her lap and stared at them. ‘Why are you being so nice to me? You thought I murdered Simon.’ It wasn’t a question.
Julian cleared his throat. ‘I was just doing my job. You have to admit it looked pretty much like you had done it.’
‘I know how bad it seemed, me with the knife in my hand and looking half-crazed stooped over Simon’s lifeless body.’ Her eyes pooled with tears.
Detective Sanders nodded. ‘You can’t blame me for thinking it was you.’
‘You obviously decided it wasn’t me,’ Suzy replied. ‘I mean, you as in the police.’
‘With the dog-walker’s statement matching your description of events, it was the logical conclusion.’
‘But you looked like you didn’t believe me.’
‘Just me or me “as in the police”?’
‘You.’
Julian smiled. ‘I didn’t, especially when I saw that text photo on your phone but it was something your mother said.’
‘That I screwed the knife in his chest like it was a screwdriver?’ Suzy joked weakly.
‘You were right, she was cross with you,’ Julian replied. ‘But she told us how Simon was almost dead when you found him and how you screamed at her to call an ambulance. She also told us how tenderly you held him and how you only touched the knife after he had died. When,’ he added, ‘you stupidly removed it. I don’t know what you were thinking.’
Suzy gulped, so her mother had only said those things outside the police station because she really was stressed. Well, Suzy thought, it didn’t make it any better, her mother’s words still hurt.
‘I don’t think I was even thinking,’ Suzy said. ‘It all felt like a dream—a nightmare. One minute I was planning on jilting Simon after seeing that text and the next falling over him in the graveyard!’ She began to cry. ‘Who would want to kill him?’
‘Other than you?’
Suzy gasped, surprise drying her tears.
‘Too soon?’ Julian grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry, I can suffer from foot-in-the-mouth-syndrome sometimes. What I should’ve said is that you were in shock. It must have been terrifying for you. Rest assured I’ll do everything in my power to find out who killed your fiancé, and why. I’m sorry this happened to you on what was supposed to be your wedding day…if you’d had a normal wedding I imagine you’d be starting your honeymoon now.’
Suzy strugg
led with her emotions. Although she still loved Simon, and had loved him unconditionally right up until that disgusting little photo text had cut her heart, a small part of her was relieved she wasn’t his wife and for that she felt as guilty as if she had been the one to drive the knife into his heart in the first place.
* * *
Chapter Two
Several Days Later
Eastcove High Street was abuzz. Snow had been falling steadily since the day of the murder and had been swept from the street so it piled up beneath shop-fronts. The cobbled, pedestrianised section of the road had been salted and the stones glimmered damply under the twinkling multi-coloured fairy-lights strung from lamppost to lamppost. Each shop-front was festooned with decorations and the sound of festive songs being played on radios spilt out through open doors.
A man dressed as Santa perched upon a carved, wooden sleigh clanging a bell while handing sweets out to passing children. People playing Santa’s elves collected donations for the local hospice, seemingly not cold in their red and green outfits. A young girl, wearing striped red and white tights, and a green, belted coat smiled as Suzy popped several coins into her collection bucket. When she held out a lollipop Suzy declined with a shake of her head and the girl shrugged, turning away as another donation was offered.
A chorus of carol singers in Victorian dress clutched old-fashioned lanterns illuminated with candles. Suzy paused as she passed them and dropped a few coins into their collection pot for Eastcove’s animal shelter. Her mother loved Christmas Carols, so did she…usually.
Further down the road a stall vendor was busy warming sweet honey-roasted nuts, the aroma catching in the air, tantalising both the taste-buds and Suzy’s memories. Honey-roasted nuts had been one of Simon’s favourite festive treats. She stopped and bought a bag even though she knew she would not eat them, she just wanted to feel the warmth of the roasted nuts through the paper bag in her hand for the memories they evoked.
Suzy normally loved Christmas but this Christmas time was different. This year felt empty. She felt empty. Something was missing.
Simon.
She could not say his name without the image of him in the churchyard coming to mind.
Cold and bloodied.
Murdered.
The roasted nuts now felt cold in her grasp so she tossed them into a nearby bin and shoved her hands into her coat pockets. Lowering her head to disguise her tears, she made her way further down the High Street. The last thing she wanted was to pass someone she knew and have to strike up a conversation, suffering their sympathies or avoiding the look of accusation upon their face. The bright lights of the shops dimmed to Suzy with the darkening of her mood. When she caught a passer-by’s eye she saw not joy in their gaze but a deadened, blank stare.
Life had been sucked from Christmas…sucked from her with the loss of Simon and the life she could have had.
Suzy caught stock of her reflection in a shop window. Turning slowly to stare at herself she stepped close to the glass. Her hair was straggly although she had only washed it that morning, and lacked its usual auburn lustre. Dark shadows hung beneath her eyes and in the hollows of her cheeks. She had lost weight for she had not done more than pick at food recently. She looked, she thought, frightful. Rummaging in her handbag she found a brush and ran it through her hair.
Marginally better.
Next she found an old tube of foundation cream and smeared some over her face, managing to disguise the sallowness of her skin. She had just stuffed the tube back into her handbag and was wiping the make-up residue from her hands with a tissue when she realised she was standing out of a newsagent shop. Her eyes slid across to the A-board beside the door and the thick, hand-written letters on the poster it displayed:
“Groom Stabbed In Heart…on a day when two people should have been giving their hearts to each other, the groom-to-be had his silenced for ever!”
Suzy stopped breathing.
She must buy a copy of the paper. Was it the local, the one she wrote for?
She hurried inside the shop and quickly paid for a copy of the paper with the matching headline on the front page.
Not the one she wrote for.
Back outside she skimmed the article. It was brief, Simon had been named but there were no specifics, no details. She, on the other hand, had not been named but merely referred to as “the almost widow”.
Cross, both with the newspaper article and herself for bothering to buy it, Suzy shoved the paper into a bin outside the newsagent shop and stomped off in search of the shop she really needed.
Words from her mother echoed sharply in her head: her parents would have to move into rented accommodation by Christmas day and they didn’t even have the money for a deposit to secure a “respectable” property. Which was why Arabella had sent Suzy to the town. Suzy knew what had to be done but she still felt guilty doing it.
Reaching the shop she needed, a bell jangled above the wooden door as Suzy pushed it open. The store was unusually full and she had to jostle her way past shopper and staff to reach the counter at the back.
‘Hello,’ said a cheery faced man behind the counter. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I hope so.’
Suzy rummaged in her handbag until her fingers closed around a small, velvet box. Regretfully, she pushed it across the counter towards the man. There it was again. Guilt.
‘How much would you give me for this?’ she asked.
The man flipped the lid of the box and drew in a sharp whistle of breath. ‘Phew, that’s a corker. I don’t see many of these.’
Suzy nodded sadly. ‘It was supposed to be a Christmas present. I know it’s not even Christmas yet but I opened it this morning. I can’t afford to keep it.’
The man nodded shortly, not probing further and eased the ring free from the cushioning of the box. Using a monocular loupe he studied the diamond, turning it this way and that way. ‘The clarity is flawless.’
Suzy didn’t respond, this she had guessed for herself. Simon had had excellent taste in jewellery.
‘950 Platinum.’
‘Pardon?’
The jeweller looked up briefly from the ring and smiled. ‘That’s a good thing, it proves the platinum is of guaranteed quality.’ He returned his attention to the ring. ‘But the real beauty of this is the diamond. I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing.’ His face was animated.
‘It’s just a pink diamond, loads of people have them.’ Suzy frowned. ‘Are you saying that this ring is somehow different?’
The jeweller’s hand shook as he handed the ring back to Suzy. ‘Do you mind if I pop out the back for a minute? I’d like to check something on the computer.’
Confused, Suzy agreed. She put the ring back into the velvet box and slipped the box into her coat pocket before feeling around in her handbag for her mobile phone which had begun to vibrate.
‘Mum,’ Suzy said quietly, holding the phone to her ear.
‘Is it done?’ her mother’s voice asked. ‘Have you sold it?’
‘I’m in the jewellers now,’ Suzy lowered her voice. ‘So I can’t really talk.’
‘What’s there to talk about?’ her mother’s voice hissed. ‘Demand the five thousand it is worth and hand it over. You don’t need it to remind you of that selfish toe-rag. I’m surprised he spent five thousand on you. It makes me wonder how much he spent on that fancy-man of his.’
‘Simon was not a toe-rag!’
At Suzy’s exclamation several people browsing nearby glanced at her with interest.
‘Don’t call him names,’ she whispered into the phone. ‘He was a lovely man and I won’t have you put him down.’
‘Fine.’ Arabella sniffed. ‘I know he wasn’t a bad man, Suzy, really I do. I’m upset for you, that’s all. I can imagine how hurt you were when you found out about him and his fancy-man.’
‘Less hurt than I was at my wedding,’ Suzy pointed out.
‘Sell the ring. We all need the money. If Simon were here
I’m sure he’d understand.’
‘If Simon were here I wouldn’t need to sell the ring. He’d give me the money.’
There was a sigh from the other end of the phone. ‘Yes, you’re probably right. Simon would do that. Don’t you take any less than five for the ring.’
‘The jeweller’s looking something up. I can’t just demand five grand like that; it looks like a second-hand ring to me. Comparing it to a similar one in your antiques annual doesn’t mean it’s worth five grand.’
‘Does the jeweller think it’s worth more?’
‘It may be worth less, did you think about that?’
‘Your father’s waking up from his nap,’ her mother whispered. ‘Remember not a word to him about this. You get the money, give me half and I’ll hide it. If you tell him, he’ll only force me to give it back to you. It’s alright for him if he wants to live in a shoebox and wear the same old pair of jeans day in day out because I don’t!’
Suzy ended the conversation just as the jeweller returned to the counter.
‘Can I show you something on my computer?’ The jeweller asked, trying to disguise his evident excitement.
‘Erm...,’ Suzy hesitated.
‘It’s okay,’ the man continued, ‘my daughter’s back there too so you’ve nothing to worry about. I’m Gerard; I own this shop and ten others across the country.’
‘Okay.’ Suzy followed Gerard into an office behind the counter area.
The office was neat and tidy and comprised of two desks, one occupied by a teenage girl who was engrossed in the laptop screen before her and another which the man hurried Suzy towards.
‘That’s your ring.’ Gerard tapped the computer screen enthusiastically. ‘A whopping 35.69 carats of exquisite, flawless, perfect pink diamond, flanked either side by emerald cut white diamonds and set in a band of Platinum, itself set with clear, white diamonds.’
Unveiling Lies (Eastcove Lies Book 2) Page 2
