by Susan Lewis
Appearing impressed he said, “You’ve clearly got an eye for this sort of thing.”
She smiled. “I enjoy taking unusual items of furniture, whether they’re footstools, chairs, old chests, drums, tin baths, and repurposing or reviving them. At some point I’d like to get a kiln and learn how to make pots.” She felt sure she was talking too much, but seemed unable to stop. “There’s an old shed in the garden that could be turned into a small studio,” she continued, “although I think Jasmine has her eye on that for a music room.”
“Ah, but she’ll be off to university before too much longer,” he pointed out, “so maybe you’ll get your studio.” He took a sip of wine and spoke curiously as he went on, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you remind me of my wife with your passion for creating things. She was much the same, although she couldn’t quite get along with a sewing machine, she was more into jewelry and greeting cards.”
“Did she do it for a living?” Claudia asked, liking the way he sounded when he talked about his wife.
“No, she was a PE teacher at a primary school, so the other things were more of a hobby. She had a market stall now and again near where we lived, and her creations used to sell pretty well. Do you ever do markets, or sell through shops?”
Feeling his words pushing her into the more recent past, she avoided his eyes and struggled to block Marcus’s mocking voice in her head. “I had a shop myself before I came here,” she said, “but I haven’t ever braved a market stall. I think I’d like to, at Christmas. It could be fun.”
At that moment their food arrived and they continued to talk as easily as if there were no secrets between them, discussing how he’d got into law, what had prompted him to come to Kesterly, their favorite movies, music, and books, the holidays they’d enjoyed the most and other places in the world they’d like to visit.
It wasn’t until Misty, the landlady, delivered the bill with an interested smile that they realized how late it had become. Dan paid, because he insisted, but he agreed that Claudia could treat him the next time.
“I’m sorry,” she said, reddening, “I’m presuming you want there to be a next time.”
“I do,” he assured her, “and I’m hoping that you do too.”
She nodded, and looked down at her empty glass. “It’s been lovely,” she said softly.
“For me too,” and reaching across the table he covered her hand with his. It was the kind of gesture Marcus had often made before they were married, a touch of her hand, gentle words, a fake but convincing interest in everything she did—and because of that she stiffened.
“Come on, I’ll walk you to your car,” he said, getting up from the table. “And maybe you’d like to take the rest of the wine home to share with Marcy?”
Retrieving their coats from the rail inside the door, they wrapped up warmly and went out into the night. The scent of sea air was so pungent that it felt tangible, and the roar of the waves as they crashed up against the nearby cliffs was almost deafening.
“Are you missing being by the sea?” he asked as they walked around to the car park.
“A little,” she admitted, “but it’s always there. I can visit anytime I like.”
They came to a stop beside her BMW, and as she unlocked it he handed her the wine. “Not so bad?” he asked teasingly.
She frowned.
“Going for dinner with me?”
She had to laugh in spite of her awkwardness. “Definitely not so bad,” she assured him. “I enjoyed it, a lot.”
“Me too. I’ll call soon to arrange when we can do it again.”
“That would be lovely, but don’t forget we’re seeing you on the concert opening night.”
“Don’t worry, I’m looking forward to it,” and taking a step back he waved her into the driver’s seat, as though sensing that anything more would be too much.
She appreciated the gesture, in spite of feeling that she might not have minded if he’d squeezed her hand, or even given her a peck on the cheek.
Chapter Twenty-One
Andee’s smile was one of amusement and fondness as Tom’s son, Richie, embraced her warmly enough to melt the icy raindrops on his jacket. It was bitterly cold outside, and so cozy in the Seafront Café that the windows were steamed up and the posters Fliss had put up to promote the upcoming concert were starting to wilt.
“How are you?” she asked, signaling to a server to come and take their order as Richie sat into the booth opposite her.
“Yeah, great, thanks, and thanks for meeting me.”
“No problem. It was lovely to get your call. Is everything working out at the Gazette?”
He rolled his eyes comically. “If the owners understood that we’re now in the twenty-first century it would be a start,” he replied, “but I’m kind of getting there. Actually, I’ve been told that if I don’t succeed it’ll fold, so no pressure.”
Andee grimaced with sympathy and after they’d ordered their coffees she said, “I’m sorry I don’t have much time, but it sounded urgent when you rang.”
“Actually, I’m not sure if it is,” he confessed, “but Dad and Leanne agreed that I should tell you what happened.”
Andee was intrigued.
“OK, it was a couple of days ago. I was coming out of my office in the Old Town when this guy, fortyish, brown hair, and smart parka, approaches me out of nowhere and asks if he can have a word. I was on my way to a meeting so I asked him to walk with me, you know, in case he had a good lead on a story. However, right off the bat, without introducing himself he starts asking me if I know someone called Rebecca—surname’s escaping me for the moment. I said I didn’t, so he pulls out his phone and shows me a photo. Now, I can’t be certain about this because the hair color was different, but if Claudia was fair I’d swear it was her.”
Andee regarded him closely as her mind went into overdrive. “What did you say?” she asked carefully.
He shrugged. “I told him I’d never seen her before. That was a kind of instinct kicking in, not sure why, but with him coming out of the blue like that . . . And once I took a proper look at him, I felt kind of glad I’d held back. I wouldn’t say he was sleazy, or anything, but there was this air about him that seemed a bit . . . off. I asked why he was looking for the woman and he said something about her coming into money, so I decided he must work for one of those inheritance agencies. I offered to put the picture on the paper’s website, but he didn’t want that. He said he’d carry on asking around and gave me his card so I could be in touch if I saw her or heard anything about her.” His eyes narrowed curiously. “You’re looking worried. It was Claudia, wasn’t it?”
“Do you know who else he was talking to in town?” Andee countered.
“I didn’t think to ask. I was already late so I just wished him good luck and went into my meeting. To be honest I forgot about it until Claudia popped into Dad and Leanne’s yesterday while I was there. I didn’t want to tell her in case it wasn’t her in the photo—or in case it was, I guess. I waited until after she’d gone and told them, which is when they said I should call you. So, what’s going on?”
Picking up her coffee, she sipped as she thought. In the end she avoided his question again and said, “I know you’re scenting a story, but please hold back for now, at least until I’ve had time to talk this over with someone who probably needs to know.”
“Meaning Claudia?”
“No, not her.”
His eyes twinkled. “Enter the infamous DCI Gould?”
She didn’t deny it.
“OK. And if this guy contacts me again? Do you want me to put him on to you?”
“No, don’t do anything to suggest you might be engaging with him at all, but let me know if he does. And if you still have his card I’ll take it from you.”
Reaching into his pocket he handed it over. “You realize a scoop for the Gazette is something I really need right now.”
“I do, and as soon as I can send one your way, I promise I w
ill.”
DCI GOULD WAS a large man in his early fifties with a lot of presence and not much tolerance when it came to someone holding him up as he was leaving for an important meeting. However, as it was his favorite ex-DS doing the holding, he sat back down at his desk and waited as she closed his office door.
He listened carefully to what she was telling him, his blue eyes sharp and narrowed, and said nothing for a while after she’d finished.
“OK,” she said in the end, “I get that you probably can’t tell me if I’m right about Claudia and her family being the ones . . .”
“You’re right,” he assured her, “it’s them. I’m just trying to think of the best way to handle this. Have you tried getting in touch with this . . . What’s the name of the guy who approached Richie?”
Reading from the card, Andee said, “Miles Montgomery. I’m guessing he’s some sort of private investigator. Probably he’s working for Claudia’s husband or someone close to him.”
Gould’s eyebrows arched. “Have you called the number?”
“I thought I’d speak to you first.”
“Good. The less contact he has from anyone in this area the better. We don’t want him thinking that he’s stirring something up, or he’ll be straight back here. If he’s even gone away, and I don’t suppose we know if he has.”
“I’ve tried several hotels, but there’s no one staying at any of them with that name, which doesn’t mean much because he could be using Airbnb, or one of the hundreds of guesthouses. I talked to Fliss at the café, and a few other business owners. No one’s approached them, but again I’m not sure that means anything.”
Gould nodded slowly. “And no one’s spoken to Claudia about this?”
“Not yet. They’re crazy busy getting ready for Jasmine’s big night tomorrow so I’ve hardly seen her lately. Are you going, by the way?”
“I am, and I’m sure you and Graeme are. Maybe we can have a drink together beforehand?”
“Great, let’s do that. I’ll get Dan to join us as well. Claudia and Marcy will be too busy backstage. Anyway, how urgent do we think this is?”
He shrugged. “We have no way of knowing, but I think I should be in touch with Carl Phillips, in London. He was the investigating officer when they were thought to be missing. I’d like to get his take on what we should do.”
“And in the meantime? Do I say anything to Claudia?”
He threw out his hands. “You know her better than I do. Is it going to freak her out if she thinks she’s been found?”
“Possibly, probably. I’ll wait until you’ve spoken to Phillips.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I’ve been trying to think of how to get around to this bit of my story, as Dan calls it. Story! Makes it sound like some kind of fairy tale, but as we know it’s a long way from that.
I’ve been dreading it, knowing it was coming, but I get that it has to be done. I mean, I could always say fuck it and move on, the way I usually do, but that’s not making me feel too good. I guess it’s talking to Dan that’s got me seeing things differently. He says I’m starting to see myself differently, but I’m not sure he’s right about that.
Anyway, here goes with the first part of how our paths came to cross. I just want you to know that I’m not in the business of naming names. That’s not going to happen. I have to think about my ma and what might be done to her if I put someone in the frame over this. Hope you understand.
So, it kicked off when BJ turns up one day and says he’s got a job for me. It’s not him who wants it done (it never is), it’s his bosses, obvs. One of the PCs has solicited their assistance with a certain situation and they’ve called in their man, BJ, who passes it to me because it’s in my neck of the woods.
It turns out to be a spot of breaking and entering and they’re paying well. The PC and his reps want a briefcase thought to be in a house on Westleigh Heights. I’m no expert when it comes to that sort of job, but it turns out to be easy enough. I scoped the place for a couple of nights, getting an idea of who was in when, and times it was most likely to be empty, and on the third night I went in through a back window.
I poked around for over an hour, keeping alert for anyone returning. No one did, but the longer I was there the greater the risk so I left—minus a briefcase.
I went in again the next night but still couldn’t find it, and I spent even longer looking, always careful to put stuff back where it belonged and even waiting till I got outside to pee.
I presumed the bosses—or the PC—would accept it just wasn’t there, because that was my conclusion, but I turned out to be wrong. The job had changed now and as soon as I found out how I told BJ I wasn’t his man. He doesn’t make with the threats or anything, which is what I’m expecting, he goes on more about how much we’re going to make and all the kudos we’re going to earn with those who matter if I pull it off. Earning kudos with the bosses means a lot to him, and I have to admit I’d rather be on the right side of them than not.
Anyways, I still wasn’t keen, having never done anything like it before, but then BJ starts going on and on about the money and what a difference it was going to make for my ma if she had some cash behind her. She wanted to fix up the house as best she could, get some glass put in the boarded-up windows, replace old carpets, and put in a washing machine. It might even make it possible for me to do a proper apprenticeship as a car mechanic, or a builder, or something to help me turn respectable. I got that was probably never going to happen, not when I knew they’d come back for me anytime they felt like it.
So, I ended up telling him that before I did anything I had to talk to someone with experience of that sort to get some wisdom. The only person I knew was doing a stretch, so I got a train to Durham and by the time I came home again I was ready to roll.
I got everything together, borrowed a van, and drove up to the Heights. I’d seen you and your family a few times when I was scoping the place for break-in, but I know you’d never seen me. I was very careful about that as I watched you come and go. With it being dark and having so much wilderness to hide out in, it wasn’t hard.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I’m going to turn the car around,” Jasmine shouted from the front door.
“OK, we’ll be right there,” Claudia called back. “Are you sure you should come?” she said to her mother, wincing as Marcy broke into another fit of sneezing. “That cold’s getting worse and you don’t want it ending up on your chest.”
“I’ll be fine,” Marcy protested, catching her breath and reaching for another tissue. “I don’t want to miss tonight.”
“It’s a dress rehearsal. If you go to bed now and spend the day there tomorrow you’ll have a fighting chance of being OK for the main event.”
“I know, I know, but I sound worse than I am. Let’s just go or we’ll make her late.”
With an exasperated sigh Claudia left her mother to wrap up warm while she dashed through to her craft room to fetch her bag. Finding it beneath the worktable, she checked her phone was inside and was about to leave when she came to a stop. She looked around, not sure why, for she hadn’t heard anything and everything seemed to be in its place. This wasn’t the first time, however, that she’d got the feeling recently that someone had been in here. Someone other than her mother or Jasmine. She hadn’t mentioned anything to either of them, she didn’t want to worry them, and she certainly didn’t want them thinking she was becoming paranoid again.
Her gaze quickly scanned the organized chaos, from bolts of fabric propped up in one corner, to trestle tables laden with projects in progress, along the walls full of pegboards, design sheets, and Post-it reminders, to the sewing-machine cases stacked into a floor-to-ceiling niche. It looked as it always did, the domain of someone who had more work than she could cope with.
Her phone buzzed with a text, and grabbing it from her bag she turned out the lights as she left the room.
Fingers crossed for the dress rehearsal. If you’re fre
e after would love to take you all for a bite. D.
Smiling happily, she tapped a message back. That would be lovely if not too late. Will call when it’s over. C.
Since their evening at the Mermaid, a couple of weeks ago, they’d been texting each other regularly with last-minute suggestions for coffee, or a quick lunch, or maybe a drink at the end of the day. It was the most either of them could manage, given how busy they were, but she was happy to take things at this pace—and really looking forward to him sharing their box for the concert tomorrow night.
To her astonishment, as she dug her arms into her coat, she spotted Jasmine’s beloved Stradivarius on the refectory table. Grabbing it, she ran out to the car. “Forgotten something?” she asked, holding it up.
Lowering her window Jasmine said, “Anton tuned it today, so I’m using my old one tonight.”
“OK,” and dashing back inside she tucked it out of sight inside the coat cupboard and set about locking up.
Minutes later she was in the front seat of the Mini, but they’d got no farther than the end of the drive before Marcy said, “I’m really sorry, but I think I’ll have to sit this one out after all.”
“No problem,” Jasmine assured her. “It’s more important that you’re well for tomorrow,” and putting the car into reverse she was about to return to the house when Marcy said, “Drop me here. I can walk back.”
“Do you have your keys?” Claudia asked, getting out to tip her seat forward.
“No, I don’t think so . . .”
“Take mine. We’ll use Jasmine’s when we come home. Straight to bed now, OK?”
“Promise.” Marcy smiled, giving her a hug.
“Dan’s invited us for a bite to eat after, so we might be a bit late.”
