After a quick wash up without a quickie, which Osian found highly disappointing, Dannel helped him get a shirt on without dragging it across his bruised skull and arm. They went into the living room to peer out the windows to check for any sign of their family.
“Pity Chris didn’t set up a camera focused on the shop. We could spy on them to time our exit.” Osian sat on the window ledge. It wasn’t the worst idea he’d had. “Why am I suddenly feeling guilty about sneaking out and not at least telling them I’m all right?”
“Mums.”
In the end, they didn’t sneak out. Osian decided a better plan was to run in to say hello, then rush off under the excuse of a follow-up at the hospital. A little white lie never hurt anyone.
His mum checked over his injuries. She fussed a bit but finally let him sneak away. He had a feeling she was too busy gossiping with Dannel’s mum about Roland’s relationship with Wayne.
I wonder if we should warn Rolly about the wedding being planned for them when they’re not even engaged.
Nah.
They didn’t escape completely, though. Dannel’s uncle had insisted on giving them a lift. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised when they directed him to the theatre and not the hospital.
“Try not to get yourselves killed, right?” Uncle Danny winked at them. “I’d hate to get stick for bringing you over here to your deaths.”
Dannel watched his uncle drive off, shaking his head. “His concern is overwhelming.”
Once inside the Evelyn Lavelle, Dannel immediately set up his laptop in the back of the theatre. He planned to focus on trying to match up signatures to the note. Osian found a seat closer to the stage to watch rehearsals; he wasn’t alone for long.
Hope slipped into the seat next to Osian. “You’ll never guess what’s happened since your dance with the chandelier.”
“I’m not the phantom.” Osian didn’t think a stage light qualified for a fancy chandelier. “Are you going to share?”
“Pretty Princess P got herself sacked for a second time.” Hope leaned in closer, keeping her voice to a whisper. “She was caught sabotaging a few of the finished costumes.”
“Was she?”
“Spilt ink on one of the dresses.”
Osian had a flashback to the previously ruined costumes. “Did she?”
“She did.” Hope leaned in even closer. She peered around to make sure no one was nearby. “Derrick heard Ian and Agatha say someone claimed to have caught her throwing bottled ink all over one of the completed gowns. She shrieked like a banshee when Ian sacked her. Threatened to ruin his ‘silly little play’ if it was the last thing she did.”
“Mildly dramatic.” Osian wondered if the police were aware of the threat.
“We don’t call her Pretty Princess P for giggles.” Hope shifted back in her seat, waving to several members of the ensemble on stage. “I’ve got to run, or I won’t have time to stretch before dance rehearsals.”
Is Pretty Princess P capable of murder? Several thrown tantrums don’t equal a serial killer. Would she be a serial killer or a spree killer?
And why would she destroy the gowns after Ian had rehired her?
We should do an entire podcast episode on defining the types of murderers.
Too morbid?
Can you be too morbid with a true crime podcast?
“If you think any harder, smoke’s going to pour out of your ears.” Dannel dropped into the seat Hope had vacated. “What’s happened?”
“Philippa was sacked again. They caught her tossing ink on a gown.” Osian kept his retelling succinct. “If she ruined a costume this time, was she the one responsible for the carnage in Birdie’s room?”
“She might’ve seen what the killer did and decided we might accuse the killer—not her,” Dannel pointed out. “Or she thought the blame would fall on our pretend ghost.”
“Think the police checked the light for fingerprints?”
“What?” Dannel stared at him in confusion at the sudden change of subject.
“Wondering if we can link the phantom moment to either of our suspects.” Osian knew neither of the detectives working on the case would volunteer information. “Did Ian say anything?”
“Loads.”
“About the case.”
“They haven’t called the police.” Dannel pointed to Ian, who was flitting around on stage.
Osian turned slowly away from the rehearsal. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Ian claimed they’d dealt with the vandalism as a production issue. Agatha argued for contacting the police. Not sure if she’s changed his mind yet. We’ve got no meddling detective inspectors for a while, at least.” Dannel got to his feet while Osian processed what he’d said. “They’re all still on stage for the short term.”
“What could a little poking around hurt?” Osian was grateful when Dannel didn’t point out the obvious. “Maybe we can snap a few photos. Try to avoid touching anything. Agatha’s clever enough to convince Ian to call the police at some point.”
“I found sod all with the signatures,” Dannel commented while they left the stalls to head backstage. “Do we know anyone who’s clever with handwriting?”
“My mum, according to her careful analysis of my forged teacher’s note in sixth form.” Osian chuckled along with Dannel. “Never tried that again. What kid doesn’t do it at least once? Put your hand down. We’re not all exceptionally honest prats.”
“Rude.”
Osian checked the hallway for stray cast members before heading straight for the costume room. He stopped when Dannel grabbed his shoulder. “What?”
“Gloves.” Dannel pulled a box out of his backpack. He tossed a pair to Osian. “Evie grabbed a box for me from the station.”
“How very official of us,” Osian teased.
“Pillock.” Dannel eased on two of the gloves. “Maybe we can keep from buggering up another crime scene with our fingerprints.”
Moving into the room, Osian glanced around. Nothing stood out to him at first view. No shredded fabric like the previous time.
“I’m not seeing any ruined costumes.” Dannel checked the rack of clothes in the corner. “Maybe in the bin?”
“Never met a costumer who didn’t save every possible scrap. Fabric gets expensive.” Osian snooped around. He picked up a dry cleaning bag in the corner. “See? I bet she’s going to see if they can get any of the ink out.”
Despite a thorough inspection, they didn’t find any clues. No obvious smoking gun. Dannel had found a note from Agatha obviously meant for Philippa about a complaint from Edwin over his costume.
“Him again?” Dannel leaned over his shoulder to read the note. “He does keep popping up like a pimple. Think his moaning sent Pretty Princess P over the edge?”
Osian carefully replaced the note on the desk. “Let’s leave before we get caught sneaking around with gloves on. Might look a bit suspicious.”
“Who caught Philippa in the act?” Dannel asked.
“No idea. Why?” Osian tugged off his gloves, shoving them into his pockets while Dannel did the same.
Dannel gestured down the hall to where Edwin was coming out of the loo, drying his hands on a towel. Even from a distance, they could see the tinge of green on his fingertips. “Maybe Philippa was innocent.”
“What are you doing here?”
Osian glanced over his shoulder to find the two inspectors along with Ian at the other end of the hall. He turned back to find Edwin gone. Bugger. “Therapy.”
“I beg your pardon.” Haider caught up with them.
“Making sure I’m not unduly traumatised by the incident.” Osian smiled innocently. “Theatre hasn’t sent me into a panic yet. Think we’re fine. Lovely to see you. Must head home to rest.”
To his surprise, they managed to get out of the theatre without the police stopping them. Haider obviously had a crime scene to reinvestigate. Osian grabbed Dannel’s hand, leaning his head against his shoulder.
�
�Tired?”
“A bit,” Osian admitted. “We’ve got to ask Edwin questions.”
“We’ve got to tell the inspectors what we saw.”
“Of course.”
After we ask our questions.
Unfortunately, Edwin had obviously skipped out of the theatre. They would’ve seen him before they left, otherwise. Osian messaged Hope to ask her to shoot him a text if the wayward actor reappeared.
“Home?” Dannel asked.
“Definitely.” Osian knew they’d already pushed their luck. “Before the police decide to lock us up for our own safety.”
Twenty-Two
Dannel
The following morning, Dannel left Osian to sleep in for a second morning. He’d promised his uncle he’d sweep out the staircases. Given they got such a break on rent, they always tried to help out where possible.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Dannel eased the headphones out of his ears and leaned over the railing to spot his mum below. “Up early.”
“Is it a short sentence kind of morning?” She climbed the stairs up to meet him. “Can we chat?”
Dannel leaned his arms on the top of the broom. “About Myron?”
“Always so perceptive.” She reached out to pat his arm gently. “Your auntie and I have been baking a few treats for the shop. Want to come down for a quick breakfast while your Ossie sleeps?”
No, I don’t.
Dannel knew he couldn’t avoid the topic forever. He hated being ambushed early in the morning. “Fine.”
“Fine as in you’re humouring me because you don’t want to say no, or fine as in you’re looking forward to sharing breakfast with your loving mum?” She smiled softly at him. “We don’t have to chat about your dad.”
“Fine.” Dannel shrugged.
“Why don’t you finish sweeping up first? Give yourself time to decide if you’re hungry.” His mum patted his hand one last time, then headed down the stairs. “We’ve got a fresh pot of coffee going as well.”
With a barely audible grunt in response, Dannel returned to his sweeping. He made his way quickly from the top floor all the way down to the ground. Ian poked his head out to wave cheerfully and offer a fresh-baked biscuit.
Dannel wrapped up the sweeping and finished the biscuit. He never knew what to expect from family talks. Might as well get it over with. They’ll catch up with me eventually if I don’t.
Maybe I should wake Ossie up.
The ambush didn’t start as painfully as Dannel feared. His mum, auntie, uncle, and Myron sat around one of the tables in the corner of the shop, enjoying coffee and cake while chatting cheerfully. He still wanted no part of it.
Most of the time, Roland provided a distraction for their parental types. Dannel appreciated his efforts. He’d hoped the older they got, the less it would be necessary.
Well, over the top with a bayonet.
Maybe I have been playing too much Battlefield.
“Hello, sweetheart. We saved a corner slice for you.” His mum gestured to a plate and a mug in front of one of the empty chairs. “Get some coffee in you. You’ll be awake in no time at all.”
“I’m awake now. Swept the stairs and everything.” Dannel added an extra sugar cube to his coffee. Osian was the only one who ever made it perfect. “I don’t sleepwalk either.”
“Not what they meant.” Osian stepped up behind Dannel, draping an arm over one shoulder and resting his chin on the other. “Are you having brekkie without me?”
Dannel’s stress lowered almost immediately. “There’s cake.”
“So.” Osian paused to grab a large slice of cake. “What’s on the secret brekkie committee agenda this morning?”
“Breakfast?” Myriam raised her mug at them. “There’s room at the table for you both.”
Osian didn’t take a seat. He kept Dannel from sitting as well. “Is the brekkie committee ambushing Dannel without warning?”
“Ossie,” Dannel muttered. He didn’t necessarily disagree with the accusatory nature of the question. They’d had a few conversations over the years with family about not springing things on him. “It might just be breakfast.”
“It isn’t.” Osian sounded utterly confident in his assessment.
“I only want a chance for a chat with my son.” Myron chose to break into the conversation, drawing Dannel’s attention. “A simple family breakfast.”
All of the stress in Dannel broke almost instantly. He’d spent months, years even, trying to maintain peace without expressing his feelings on what had happened. Being ambushed after a stressful day left him without his usual internal buffer.
“You can’t force a close relationship. You swanned off on us. You and Mum decided it was better for Rolly and me to get used to being a family of three. I get adults can grow apart. I understand the decision to divorce now. I’ll never grasp how you figured keeping your distance would be good for us.” Dannel slammed his hand on the table to stop Myron from interrupting. “All you did was confuse us. Me. You left me feeling as though I’d done something wrong. You made a mistake. People do. I forgive you. But there’s no magic wand to wipe away the painful memories of inadequacy. Quit trying to make me fit into your timetable. We’ll get there. Eventually.”
And with that, Dannel ran out of words. He’d practised telling off his father so many times in his head and in front of the mirror. The verbal tsunami had been brilliant and exhausting.
Now what?
“Lovely to see all of you. We’ll just take the cake.” Osian stretched an arm out to grab the platter off the table. He caught Dannel’s hand and led him out of the shop. “You stunned them into silence. We’ll sneak upstairs with our spoils of war.”
They made it to their flat without anyone following. Dannel fully expected a family invasion. Quiet acceptance wasn’t in their make-up on a genetic level.
Sinking onto the sofa, Dannel stared up at the ceiling. He heard Osian pottering around in the kitchen. His morning had started out so well.
“Coffee?” Osian held up a mug in front of Dannel.
“What?” Dannel blinked in surprise at the N7 mug hovering near his head. “Sorry.”
“Gave you twenty minutes to process but heard your tummy rumbling. Coffee. Cake.” Osian handed the mug over, then paused when a knock sounded. “Bugger. We’ll ignore them.”
“Oi. Open up, you two. Olivia and I want a word,” Roland yelled through the door, pounding on it again. “C’mon. It’s just us.”
Once Dannel nodded, Osian went to let their siblings in. Olivia shoved in by her brother. She lifted up a large sack of muffins, grabbing one and handing the bag to Roland behind her.
“By the by, I warned Mum not to listen to Dad on his plans.” Roland rummaged around in their fridge and came out with a bottle of juice. “He mentioned wanting to do a get-together. I said to wait. No one ever listens to me about family gatherings.”
“That’s because we all remember the time you suggested a joint family vacation. You rented the house. Claimed it was practically a country estate.” Osian grabbed the sack of muffins to find a chocolate-cherry one for himself. “And what happened? It was a one-bedroom cottage with a leaky roof and no working loo.”
Olivia ignored the squabbling pair and sat next to Dannel on the sofa. “How are you doing?”
“I yelled at my mum.” Dannel rubbed at his chest, trying to ease some of the lingering tension. “And Myron.”
“You’ve gotten it off your chest. All those frustrations you bottled up inside. Now, you can heal on your terms.” Olivia snagged the muffin out of Roland’s hand when he walked by to sit in an armchair. She winked at Dannel, who chuckled. “We’ve had a word with the parents. They’re suitably apologetic for springing it on you.”
“She did her disappointed teacher thing.” Roland stole the muffin back from Olivia. He handed it back when she glared at him. “Terrifying woman.”
“That’s my little sister.” Osian grinned proudly.
&nbs
p; “Right. Enough about the drama. Parents will be parents. They’ll sort themselves out.” Roland caught the sack of muffins from Osian and got one for himself. “What’s going on with your investigation? The one you swore wasn’t happening, and I won’t mention to the detective inspectors, so I don’t wind up on Glastonbury duty.”
“Don’t fancy trudging around in the mud dealing with drunk partiers?” Osian squashed on the sofa next to Dannel. “We’ve narrowed our pool of suspects to two.”
“Because the other two were murdered,” Dannel added. He still didn’t know for certain how Howard or Niall figured into Birdie’s death.
“Try not to get yourselves murdered in the process.” Roland had obviously given up on stopping them from investigating. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t go alone if you’re poking your nose into stuff.”
“How’s your head?” Olivia asked Osian when it was clear no one had a response to Roland. “Stitches driving you mad yet?”
Osian bent his head forward for her to inspect. “I’ve got a week maybe before they can come out. Itches like mad, though. Sodding hate stitches.”
“Do amateur sleuths get hazard pay?” Roland bit into his muffin and winked at his brother.
“Don’t be snarky.” Dannel nudged Roland with his foot. “Can we get accident insurance?”
“I loathe all of you. Wankers.” Osian feigned a pout while reaching out to snag another muffin from the bag. “Here’s what I’d like to know. Do we have one murderer or two? Did Howard or Niall kill Birdie? Or is there another person who did all three?”
“Oz.” Roland dropped his head forward into his hands. “Maybe let the detective inspectors figure this out, yeah? It’s what they get paid to do.”
“Here, look at this.” Osian went over to grab the laptop off the table. He showed them the note along with the comparisons they’d made. “I can’t tell if there’s a similarity or not.”
“Have you checked in with Chris? Did his video catch anything interesting?” Olivia ignored the glare Roland sent her way. “What? That you think we had a chance of stopping their curiosity is hilarious.”
Ghost Light Killer Page 13
