by Agatha Frost
“Sure,” Natasha said, turning to the road, only to turn back to Liz, her perfect brows furrowed slightly. “It’s funny that Simon never mentioned you before, considering how good a friend you seem to be. We’ve always kept in touch.”
“I’m new to town,” Liz said, her voice scraping against her dry throat.
“Right,” Natasha said with a nod as she turned back once more to the road. “It was nice to meet you properly, Elizabeth.”
With Ellie in hand, Natasha headed back to the stall. Liz found her eyes fixed on the pair, only able to look away when Natasha touched Simon’s arm again. She doubled back into the shop, slamming the door behind her. Eyes closed, she leaned her head against the cold glass. She knew exactly what Natasha had been trying to do, and she was frustrated that it had worked.
In the hours since her awkward meeting with Natasha, Liz’s shop had been busy, but she had hardly put anything through the till. The people of Scarlet Cove seemed more than happy to browse if it meant they could question Liz about her discovery at the castle. She felt like a fool for not even noticing that people were leaving empty handed until it happened for a third time. One woman had grabbed a bundle of wool after Liz pointed out that she was in a shop, and not a gallery after the woman had asked a dozen questions about Nathan.
A little after noon, Liz found herself flicking through her sketchpad. On her days off she would take her pad and pencil out into the town and scribble down things she might want to paint, but since Halloween she had been using her sketchpad for something else entirely.
She flicked to the page of notes, which had started out as a simple diagram of three names, but was now filled with her tiny scribbly handwriting. Despite her mass of notes, she was no closer to figuring out why Nathan had been beheaded.
Tracing her finger along the three names she had circled, she landed on Polly Spragg. The quirky hairdresser certainly had a motive. Nathan had been cheating on her, and by her own admission, she had uncovered the affair right before the beheading. She also had the cut on her hand, which she said was from her hairdressing scissors. Could it have been from the murder weapon?
She traced her finger to the other side of the page, landing on Misty Rivers. Liz had written ‘UNLIKEABLE’ in big letters, which she had underlined three times. Just like Polly, she also had a solid motive. Had she killed Nathan because their affair had soured? The singer had seemed indifferent about her feelings towards Nathan, but had that been a cover? Liz had met liars just as convincing in her time in the force.
The final suspect she had was Daniel Clark, but the restaurant owner’s notes were less extensive. She had nothing concrete, other than that Daniel had admitted he could not afford Nathan. She knew it was hardly a concrete motive for murder, but she had written his name down thanks to a feeling; her years of police work had taught her that a hunch could be better than hours in the forensics lab.
She pulled her phone from under her desk and scrolled to Miles’ number. Glancing at the clock, she imagined him up in Manchester, tucking into one of his favourite falafel wraps on his lunch break while he worked on a case. He was the only person whom she had stayed in touch with after leaving the city, and she knew he might be able to provide an outsider’s unbiased perspective. Hovering over the green icon, she prepared herself for the ‘I told you that you wouldn’t be able to stop poking your nose into murder’ speech.
She pressed the button, but the bell above the door decided her fate for her. She quickly ended the call after the first ring, tossing her phone onto the counter. She looked up with her friendliest customer service smile, but it faded when she saw Christopher striding into the shop, his hands in his suit trouser pockets as he looked around the place.
“Christopher,” she said as she snapped the sketchpad shut. “What a nice surprise. After some paints?”
Christopher smiled politely as he approached the counter, his eyes drifting to the specially commissioned painting he had given to Liz to celebrate her shop’s opening. She often looked at the picture to remind herself that Christopher Monroe was a real person and not just a ruthless business tycoon who had a tendency to look down his nose at people.
“I was just passing,” he said as he stared down at the sketchpad. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Not at all,” she said quickly, her cheeks burning. “I was just sketching.”
Christopher smiled tightly at her. She did not know why he was there, but she could tell he had not been passing. She could not remember an instance since her shop’s grand opening that Christopher had stepped foot inside.
“How’s business?” he asked, looking around the empty shop with tight eyes. “Looks quiet.”
“Booming as ever,” Liz lied, unsure of why she did not want Christopher to know she was just about paying the bills on the place. “I’m the idiot who opened an arts and crafts shop at the end of a summer season, but I’m getting by.”
“You are?” Christopher queried as he ran his finger along the counter. “Empty shelves?”
He cast a finger over to the wall of oil paints, where a good quarter of the paints were yet to be restocked.
“My supplier is squeezing every last penny out of me,” she admitted, knowing that Christopher’s business savvy persona would see through any lie she told. “It turned out that the good prices at the beginning were ‘introductory offers’, which had expiration dates. I never was good at paperwork.”
“I have some contacts,” he said with a pearly smile, baring his square perfect teeth like a shark about to eat its first meal of the day. “I could make some calls and see if I can find you someone cheaper.”
“You would do that?”
“It’s nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Business is a game of knowing when to move and when to stick. I’m sure I can come up with someone willing to beat your current prices.”
“That would actually be great,” Liz said, almost under her breath. “I would really appreciate that.”
“I’m always willing to help those in need,” Christopher said with another casual shrug. “Especially those I like.”
Liz gritted her teeth behind her smile as she clung to the counter. She hoped Christopher knew that her acceptance of his help would not lead to another awkward date and failed attempt at a kiss.
“Heard from Simon?” Christopher asked as he rubbed invisible dust between his fingers. “I thought I saw Natasha at the market with him earlier.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“I’m sure it must have upset you?” he asked, his eyes darting up to meet hers, a pleased smile on his lips. “You were getting rather serious, or so I heard. It can’t be easy to know that he ran back to his first love the second she turned up on his doorstep.”
Liz considered showing Christopher where the door was, and she might have done if she had not caught a glimpse of the empty shelves out of the corner of her eye.
“Was there anything else?” she asked firmly. “I was just about to go through my inventory.”
Christopher arched one of his faint brows, letting her know he knew he had pushed a button. Had that been his intention all along? Was he rubbing salt in the wound after she rejected him in favour of the farmer?
“I was just passing,” he said again. “I’ll make those calls when I get back to the office.”
“Thank you.”
Soft rain began to fall at the very moment Christopher walked towards the door. He ducked out of the shop and walked up the street. Liz heard a door slam and the roar of an engine starting up.
“Just passing, huh?” she grumbled to Paddy, who was curled up under the counter. “Who does he think he’s fooling?”
The second she opened her sketchpad, the door opened again. She looked up excitedly, hoping to see an unfamiliar face who might want to buy some paints or PVA glue. She tried to hide her disappointment that it was just her landlord, Bob Slinger.
Bob shuffled into the shop in a yellow vinyl raincoat. The man was s
o small, the edge of the coat almost grazed the floor, only stopping a single inch above the rubber soles of his shoes. He sniffed, his bulbous nose redder than usual.
“I sensed rain,” he said with a knowing nod as he closed the door behind him. “You can never be too prepared.”
“Looks like you were right,” Liz said as rain began to bounce off the pavement. “How can I help you, Bob?”
“I got your message about the faulty boiler,” he said with a wide smile, his eyes magnified to triple their size behind his spectacles. “It’s been on the blink for years. I thought I’d take a look at it myself before I sent a man round. You never know, I might have the magic touch!”
He rubbed his hands together and shook them by his sides like a circus performer. Liz had always found her little landlord peculiar, but she liked him all the same. His unfaltering enthusiasm always perked her mood up a little.
“You know where it is,” she said as she handed over her flat keys. “I think it’s a problem with the timer.”
Bob nodded as he pocketed the keys. He looked as though he was about to turn and get to work checking over the boiler, but he stopped, his finger rising up to his chin as though he had just remembered something.
“Nasty business with Nathan,” he said, rocking steadily back and forth on his heels. “I read about it in the paper, although I heard about your involvement from Shirley at the Fish and Anchor.”
“Word travels fast around here,” Liz replied. “It seems that everyone in town knows me as the woman who kicked Nathan’s head down a corridor.”
“And it wasn’t that long ago that you were the woman who uncovered the truth behind Frank’s murder,” he reminded her with a wag of his finger. “And I daresay it will be something entirely new next month. It’s the way Scarlet Cove works. We have long memories, but fickle attention spans.”
Liz wondered if that was possibly the wisest thing she had heard anyone say since arriving in Scarlet Cove. She looked the little man up and down, suddenly realising he probably knew more about the town than most.
“How long have you lived in Scarlet Cove, Bob?”
“Born and bred,” he announced with a proud pat of his round stomach. “And the only time I’ll be leaving is when it’s in a box.”
“Would you say you know what goes on around this town?”
“Nothing gets past ol’ Bob Slinger,” he asserted with a tap on the side of his nose. “Tell me what you want to know?”
Liz mentally flicked through the notes she had, trying to locate the biggest gaps in her information.
“How well do you know Misty?”
“Misty Rivers?” he replied quickly, giving her hope that he would be a good source of information. “She’s a bit of a loose cannon from what I’ve heard. Came into town like a whirlwind a couple of years ago. Started working at the cabaret bar when she took Derrick on as her talent agent.”
“Derrick?” Liz responded, thinking back to the man she had seen rescuing Misty from Polly’s attack during the Halloween party. “He didn’t look like a talent agent.”
“And I don’t look like a landlord,” he exclaimed jollily. “It’s not his only job, but it’s one of them. He does right by Misty, from what I know. He’s going to make her a star.”
Liz desperately wanted to open her sketchpad and scribble down everything he was saying, just in case something would be useful later on; she resisted.
“Do you know if Misty is working tonight?” Liz asked, knowing Coastline Cabaret’s performance schedule might be a push for the old man to know. “I thought she was a great singer. I’d like to hear her again.”
“I think she is,” he said with a nod as his finger drummed against his chin. “In fact, I’m sure of it, and if she’s not, you can have your next month’s rent for free! She’s always on the day after bingo, and I won five pounds last night.”
Their conversation turned back to the weather before quickly tailing off. When he sensed his cue to leave, Bob pulled Liz’s flat keys from his pocket, left the shop, and opened the door directly next to it.
With Bob banging and rattling around upstairs, Liz pulled out her phone. She had a missed call from Miles, along with a text message that read: ‘Did you call me? Who’s died now, Frizzy Lizzy?’
Liz decided she would ring Miles later on for a proper catch-up, but she had someone else to call in the meantime. She scrolled to her second most called contact and pressed the phone against her ear.
“It’s me,” she said when Nancy picked up on the third ring. “Are you busy tonight?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good. Fancy a trip to the cabaret bar?”
6
Liz arrived at Coastline Cabaret ten minutes before seven in the evening. It had always been a habit of hers to arrive everywhere early, even if no one else ever seemed to return the courtesy. She stood in the doorway to fend off the cold, stepping awkwardly to the side whenever people wanted to enter.
Liz was relieved to hear Nancy’s loud voice float along the wind a little after seven, but that relief quickly vanished when she saw who she was with. She had expected Nancy to bring Jack along, and had almost expected Nancy to forcibly drag Simon along, but she had not expected to see Natasha trailing behind.
“Sorry we’re late,” Nancy said, her eyes wide, apologising for more than just being late. “Let’s get a drink.”
Liz opened the door for Nancy but found herself glued into position. Jack walked through with his usual happy-go-lucky smile, and Simon followed with an awkward smile, his familiar musky aftershave tickling her nostrils. Natasha drifted through in a cloud of sickly-sweet perfume, her red-stained smile similar to the one she had given Liz outside her shop. Liz did not even try to return it.
“Bar,” Nancy said, hooking her arm through Liz’s and dragging her across the room. “Now.”
Liz let herself be dragged through the half-empty bar. Nancy did not stop until they were at the bar and well out of earshot of Jack, Simon, and Natasha as they seated themselves at a table on the other side of the room.
“I asked Simon specifically not to bring her,” Nancy said, her tone angry. “She tagged along anyway. Simon called Jack in a panic and didn’t know how to tell her to stay at the farm.”
“It’s fine,” Liz said, glancing back at the table, her stomach turning when she saw Natasha laughing at something, her hand resting on Simon’s shoulder. “Honestly, I’m fine.”
“I just wanted to get you in a room together without her,” Nancy said as she dumped her handbag on the bar. “It’s not fair. She’s like a bad smell. I went up to the farmhouse to ask Simon what was happening, and she was stuck to him like Velcro. Even when I call, I can hear her in the background. I wouldn’t be surprised if she sits by the door while he showers.”
“What’s there to talk about?” Liz said, hoping to catch Patsy’s attention so she could change the subject. “It’s none of my business.”
Liz was beginning to feel like a broken record. It was not any of her business, but it felt like it should be. She looked back at Simon, surprised when she caught his eyes. He smiled across the room at her, but Liz whipped her head back to Nancy, unable to maintain eye contact.
“Twice in one week,” Patsy exclaimed as she walked towards them in a tight, bright pink leopard-print top. “I’m a lucky woman. What can I get you girls?”
“Two wines, one orange juice, and two beers please,” Nancy said as she plucked her purse from her bag.
“Orange juice?” Patsy asked. “Not drinking tonight?”
“It’s for Natasha,” Nancy choked out, the word sticking in her throat like it did Liz’s. “She’s back, and apparently doesn’t like wine anymore.”
“Simon’s ex-girlfriend?” Patsy asked, her brows arching up her taut forehead. “What’s she doing back in Scarlet Cove? I thought she swanned off to be a lawyer?”
“She’s a lawyer?” Liz asked disbelievingly. “My parents would love her. Maybe I should c
all them and ask if they want a new daughter?”
“She’s got nothing on you,” Patsy said with a wink as she poured the wine. “This one is for you, Liz. You look like you need it.”
Patsy handed Liz a glass full to the rim. She was more than grateful when the alcohol hit her lips.
They headed back to the table, but Liz found her attention turning to the corridor where she knew Misty’s dressing room was. She placed Jack’s beer in front of him, avoiding Simon and Natasha’s obvious gazes.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, already wandering off with the glass of wine in her hands.
She lingered by the entrance of the corridor for a moment. The bar was moderately busy, but nothing like it had been on Halloween. Just as Nancy had warned, it was mainly filled with the older residents along with unsuspecting tourists.
“Derrick?” Misty’s voice echoed down the corridor. “Derrick? Are you there?”
Liz hung back for a moment, waiting for the balding man to appear. When he did not, she slipped down the corridor and into Misty’s dressing room.
“Oh,” Misty said when she caught Liz’s eyes in the mirror. “You again. Where’s Derrick?”
“He’s coming,” Liz lied, looking around the extravagantly decorated room that she had not had a chance to look at during her first interaction with Misty. “He told me to tell you he’s been held up.”
Excessive garments and leotards sparkled from long racks, sequins and jewels catching the soft light of Misty’s dressing table mirror. Giant headpieces sat on plastic heads along the far wall, with heavy-looking costume jewellery hanging on hooks underneath them. Amongst all the excess Liz felt like a magpie unable to focus on one shiny thing at a time.
“They’re quite something, aren’t they?” Misty smiled in the mirror as she applied some loose powder across the bridge of her nose.
“They’re beautiful.” Liz walked over to the rack, her fingers dancing across the different fabrics. “Have you ever thought about performing in Vegas?”
