by Susan Lewis
She hoped she was right.
“This is my mother, Marcy Kavanagh,” Claudia announced as they entered the living area.
Phillips stepped forward to shake Marcy’s hand and introduce himself.
Claudia could sense her mother’s anxiety, but Marcy’s expression remained confident as she said, “It’s good of you to come all this way to see us.”
Without commenting on that, Phillips identified the younger man as Detective Constable Leo Johnson from the local CID, and after Johnson had also shaken hands, they both accepted the offer of coffee.
Claudia directed them to the table and as she set down the croissants and pain au raisins her mother carried through a tray of mugs and a cafetière.
Phillips was the first to speak, in a tone that was gruff but not aggressive, and Claudia thought she detected tiredness in his eyes. “Following on from the conversation I had with your mother yesterday,” he said to her, “I must ask why, if you felt you needed protection, you didn’t contact the police?”
Having expected the question, Claudia watched Marcy pouring the coffee as she said, “I needed to get away from my husband completely, to make sure my daughter was safe and do everything I could to stop him from finding us again. All you would have offered me was protection during the trial—or maybe a few weeks after—but that wouldn’t have been enough.”
Marcy added, “As I explained on the phone, he’s violent and unpredictable. And it’s not only what he did to my daughter, he also made threats against my granddaughter. We have reason to believe that while he’s in prison others have been instructed to ‘keep an eye on us.’ He’s very controlling, you see, frighteningly so.”
Phillips’s expression revealed little as he took his coffee and declined a pastry, while Johnson tucked hungrily into a croissant.
For the next few minutes, to the accompanying sounds of sea gulls, traffic, and tourists drifting in from outside, Phillips outlined the offenses they had committed and how wasting police time could be punishable by a custodial sentence.
Claudia felt her insides clench. “You don’t understand,” she told him, her voice thick with emotion. “We weren’t thinking about the trial. We just had to get away.” She took a gulp of coffee to calm herself, before adding, earnestly, “I really didn’t mean for our disappearance to cause so much . . . concern. I am very sorry for the trouble we’ve caused.”
How naïve did that sound? Unbearably, she realized, but at least he wasn’t looking scornful, or angry.
Marcy said, “Why did you start looking for us? We hadn’t done anything wrong; it’s not a crime to change your name, or to move house, or to erase your profiles from social media.”
Phillips said, “You could have done all that and still let us know you were doing it. No one would have stopped you. But to answer your question, you were reported missing, so we were obliged to follow it up.”
Claudia’s eyes met her mother’s. She said quietly, “I’m guessing my sister-in-law, Eugena, contacted you?”
Phillips neither confirmed nor denied it, only regarded her in a way that caused color to rise in her cheeks. “Why did you leave your phones and laptops in the house?” he asked curiously. “Wouldn’t it have made more sense to dispose of them?”
Claudia accepted that it would have, but it was too late now. “I suppose it was my way of telling my husband, and his sister,” she said, “that we’d gone for good and there was no point looking for us because we’d left our old lives behind.” She didn’t mention anything about the Internet advice on disappearing; it was a site that might work well for some and so needed to remain in place.
Phillips arched a single eyebrow as he said, “Didn’t it occur to you that your disappearance could be interpreted another way?”
“Not until I saw it on the news,” she replied, managing to hold his gaze in spite of the intimidation she was starting to feel. He’s not Marcus, she reminded herself forcefully. He doesn’t mean you any harm, at least not in the same way.
“And you didn’t come forward then because?” he prompted.
Marcy said, “Because we didn’t want to be found. I think that’s already been established.”
Phillips inhaled and glanced at Leo Johnson as he leaned back in his chair. “What I think,” he said, addressing Claudia, “is that you assumed if your husband and sister-in-law came under investigation regarding your disappearance, which they did, it would delay them from trying to find you. In other words, you made your disappearance seem suspicious in order to buy yourselves some time.”
“That’s not true,” Claudia responded quickly, and heard the faint rasp in her voice that weakened her words. She never used to be so apprehensive or afraid to assert herself, but it would change, she determined, just not in time for this. “I had no idea Eugena would report us missing. If anything, I expected her to try and find us herself, or employ someone to do it for her.” Her eyes went briefly to her mother and she could see that their thoughts were the same—contacting the police to help find her brother’s missing wife had clearly backfired on Eugena in a way she should have foreseen, but apparently hadn’t. So perhaps she wasn’t quite so clever after all.
Marcy said, “My daughter has already apologized for the trouble we’ve caused, and I’d like to apologize, too. I should have contacted you sooner, I realize that, but the problem was—and remains—if the press finds out where we are, our attempts to start afresh will have been pointless.”
Phillips regarded her carefully, apparently measuring his words before responding. “It’s going to be necessary to explain why the search has been called off, have you thought of that?”
Marcy nodded bleakly.
“Do you have any answers?”
She said, “You wouldn’t have to give any details of where we are.”
After a moment he surprised her by saying, “No, we wouldn’t.”
Claudia wasn’t sure if she was understanding correctly. Was he really agreeing to keep their whereabouts a secret? Marcy was very still as she waited for him to continue.
Phillips stared at his empty mug and spoke almost as if he was only working this out now. “The press will bombard us with questions,” he said, “but the only answer we need to give is that you’re alive and well and that we won’t be pursuing matters any further.”
Claudia and Marcy stared at him.
Johnson cleared his throat as Phillips went on, “Of course there’s nothing the police can do to stop a member of the press from launching a search of their own.”
Claudia’s eyes moved to him. “Do you think they will?” she asked, certain they would. The press loved nothing more than exposés and exclusives. And then there was Eugena: on behalf of Marcus, she would certainly initiate a search, if she hadn’t already.
“They won’t learn anything from us,” Phillips assured them. “I haven’t shared anything with my team yet, and there’s no reason for anyone, either press or public, to be in touch with Leo here concerning yourselves. As long as you are able to keep your identities quiet, I see no reason why it can’t stay a secret.”
Claudia couldn’t think what to say. It was everything they’d hoped for, but there was more to it, she could sense it as solidly as if another presence had stolen into the room.
His head went down again, and he pressed his fingers to his eye sockets, digging in hard; the gesture of a fatigued and troubled man. “My daughter was the victim of a violent marriage,” he confessed in a tone that belied the torment beneath it. “We—I—should have done more to protect her. There was a restraining order, but he got to her and . . . She was an only child and our lives have never been the same since we lost her.”
Tears instantly stung Claudia’s eyes to see how broken he was inside. A father who’d lost the most precious person in the world to him, and because of who he was, what he did for a living, he was unable to forgive himself. “I’m so sorry,” she said hoarsely.
He nodded briefly and his tone became crisp as he
replied, “We don’t want the same happening to you.” He stood and looked Claudia in the eye. “You have my number,” he said, “but Leo is here, on the ground. Don’t be afraid to contact him if you feel the need to.”
Leo put his card on the table as he stood too. “Anything,” he told them. “If you feel it needs checking out just call.”
Marcy thanked him, and Claudia could see that she was as dazed as her daughter was by the unexpected turn this had taken.
“There’s just one other thing,” Phillips said, before leaving. “According to your sister-in-law something is missing from the house. Can you throw any light on that?”
Heat spread all the way through Claudia as she pictured the attaché case, now hidden beneath her mother’s bed. “I don’t know what she means,” she said, trying for confusion and hitting a note that was slightly too shrill. “Did she say what it was?”
He shook his head. “No, but she seemed keen to get it back.”
AFTER THE DETECTIVES had gone Claudia returned to the sitting room to find her mother gazing down at the street below, watching the two men getting into a car.
“Do you think he believed me?” Claudia asked, twisting her fingers anxiously.
Marcy turned back into the room. “About the attaché case? I don’t think it matters. He’s clearly not interested in pursuing it.”
Claudia stared at the empty mugs and cafetière on the table. “If we could work out a way of getting it to her do you think she’d stop trying to find us?”
Her mother replied without hesitation. “No, I don’t, and as far as I’m concerned the money at least belongs to you.”
Claudia didn’t argue with that, since she was only too aware that Marcus had taken the profit she’d made from the sale of her and Joel’s house to invest and she’d never seen as much as a single penny in return. Whether the cash in the briefcase covered the amount, she had no idea. She hadn’t counted it, but it was certainly a sizable sum. “What about the documents?” she said, certain they were of as much, if not more interest to Marcus and his sister.
Marcy shrugged. “Let’s hang on to them,” she replied. “At least for now.”
Chapter Six
“Sorry I’m late,” Andee apologized, sinking into a booth at the Seafront Café where one of her closest friends was waiting. “It’s been a crazy morning in the world of interior design. How are you? You look wonderful, as usual.”
Leanne Delaney twinkled happily. She was a striking woman in her mid-forties with a Pre-Raphaelite look about her that was at once romantic, earthy, and fiery. “Right back at you.” She smiled. “And don’t worry about being late, I’ve only just got here myself. I’ve ordered you a glass of white, tell me I did wrong.”
“You did not. I need it after the showdown I’ve just had with a contractor.”
Curiously, Leanne asked, “Are we talking about the new builds up on Westleigh Heights?”
“The very same. I’m supposed to be dressing the show home this week, but they’re so behind that the decorators can’t even start to wallpaper and half the furniture is about to be delivered.”
“Mm, awkward. Anything I can do?”
“If you know how to make curtains I’d worship at your feet forever. The woman I normally use has just let me down, and everyone else on my list is up to their eyes.”
Leanne grimaced. “Not a part of my skill set, I’m afraid, but I’ll definitely give it some thought and let you know if I come up with anyone. Aha, here’s Fliss, the goddess of grapes.”
They greeted the café’s owner affectionately, and for several minutes the three of them discussed how their various businesses were doing. The Seafront was always busy no matter the time of year, given its status as the town’s go-to breakfast and lunch venue, while Leanne’s vintage emporium further along the Promenade had done exceptionally well over the summer. Andee, as always, was involved in so many projects besides her design business that there was too much to go into, so she mostly let the others talk.
“So, who’s joining you?” Fliss asked, nodding at the table’s third setting.
“Dan Collier,” Andee replied. “Don’t be surprised if he gets on both your cases to become practitioners in our restorative justice program.”
“Oh, yes, how’s that going?” Fliss asked, waving goodbye to someone who was leaving. “I hear you’ve already got an executive board in place. Are you just waiting for funding to come through?”
“Not anymore,” Andee responded warmly. “Thanks to a very generous donation from a local businessman, we’re already taking in referrals.”
Intrigued, Leanne said, “You mean actual cases? No more rehearsals?”
“We have two genuine cases running at the moment,” Andee told her. “One is a burglary and the other’s a hate crime, but there are others under consideration, so we need to start recruiting. I thought your mother would be a good candidate,” she suggested to Leanne, “and I wondered about Klaudia,” she added, referring to Leanne’s partner in the vintage shop she owned. “Speaking Polish will make her a tremendous asset.”
Leanne blinked. “Mum will definitely want to be involved,” she assured her. “I’ll talk to Klaudia and let you know, but I’m sure she’ll say yes.”
“If you need more men,” Fliss said, glancing over her shoulder at the sound of a crash in the kitchen followed by angry voices, “I’ll put my thinking cap on. Now I’d better go and find out what’s up in the paradise of my workplace.”
Left to their wine and menus, Andee said, “OK. I’m opting for the spicy lentil soup. It seems right for this miserable weather.”
With a sigh Leanne replied, “Will it ever stop raining? But at least we had a lovely August and the forecast isn’t bad for the coming weekend, thank God. We’ve promised Abby a barbecue for her seventeenth birthday party, although at the moment she’s only invited her latest best friend, Jasmine. So not too much work there, but watch this space. Actually, there’s a thought: I’m sure Jasmine mentioned something about her mother being into soft furnishings. Maybe she’s someone you could talk to about curtains?”
Ready to grasp at any straw, Andee said, “Do you have a name or number for her?”
“I know her name’s Claudia, but I’ll have to ask Abby or Jasmine for her details. I’ll text Abby now, if you like. She might get back to us by the end of lunch.”
After the message was sent, she put aside her phone and leaned in to Andee conspiratorially. “OK, to the real reason for this lunch—but you must promise not to breathe a word for now.”
Andee drew a cross over her heart.
“Tom’s asked me to marry him and I’ve accepted.”
Andee’s eyes widened. “You accepted?” she cried in mock horror. “I felt sure you’d turn him down when he finally got around to it.”
Leanne shot her a meaningful look and as they both laughed, Andee started to get up to hug her.
“No, don’t make a fuss,” Leanne cautioned, waving her back down. “I don’t want anyone to know yet, although the chances of my mother being able to hold it in are about as good as mine of fitting into the size ten wedding dress we have in the shop.”
Andee laughed. “So, when are you planning to do it?”
“We’re still discussing that, but it’ll definitely be just close friends and family, so obviously that includes you, Graeme, and your mother.”
“On behalf of us all, I accept. Will it be at the Tramonto?” She was referring to the exquisite Italianate villa on Kesterly Heights that Tom had inherited a couple of years back from an aunt and which Graeme and Andee, with their joint skills as developer and designer, had helped turn into an exclusive twelve-suite hotel.
“Probably,” Leanne replied. “It’ll depend on bookings, but . . .” She broke off as a furious-looking waif of a woman stomped out of the kitchen, banged against tables as she crossed the café, and slammed noisily out of the door.
Andee said, “Wasn’t that Maria Colbrook?” She watched the di
minutive woman’s awkward gait as she marched off through the rain, trying to remember the last time she’d seen her, and decided it must have been years rather than months ago.
“No idea,” Leanne replied. “I’ve never seen her before, but it’s looking like she’s just lost her job.” She checked her phone as a text arrived. “Great, it’s from Abby with Jasmine’s mother’s number. I’ll forward it to you.” After doing so, she said, “They’re a sweet family, grandmother, mother, and daughter, much like we were at Ash Morley before Tom changed our dynamic. To fill you in a bit, they haven’t been in the area for long, only a few months, and according to Jasmine her mother hasn’t made many friends yet.”
Picking up on that, Andee said, “So we need to come to the rescue?”
“Maybe, if she wants it. Although she almost never comes in when she drops Jasmine at ours, so it could be she’d rather keep herself to herself.”
“What about the grandmother?”
“A different story. My mother’s got to know her a little through the community center, and apparently she’s just become a trustee of the theater. And wait for this, she’s offered to sponsor a concert next spring.”
Andee was impressed. “That’s very generous of her.”
“Isn’t it, but I suspect she’s doing it mainly so Jasmine can show off what a brilliant violinist she is. She’s incredibly talented, can play just about anything you throw at her, and not just classical. Abby, who has no such skills, is planning to be her manager or producer, maybe agent, I forget which.” With a maternal sigh, she added, “Actually, it’s wonderful to see the two of them together. Abby was quite lost after her best friend Tanya moved away, but she and Jasmine have been inseparable over the school holidays.”
Andee said, “Aha, here comes our soup. I don’t remember ordering it, do you?”
“You didn’t,” Fliss informed her. “This is just to keep you going while we sort things out in the kitchen. It’s on the house.”
