by Agatha Frost
“Most of it is still in the bedroom,” Polly said, brushing stray strands of her hair away from her face. “I haven’t really been sleeping there. I’ve been sleeping on the couch. I’m not sure if I’m ready to do this.”
“I’ll sort the bedroom,” Liz said, planting a hand firmly on Polly’s shoulder. “Stay down here with Nancy and gather up anything that needs to go.”
After a big mouthful of wine, Polly nodded her agreement. She ripped off another bag before squatting in front of the DVD collection under the television.
Liz tore off a couple of bags before heading up the narrow staircase to the landing, which had been decorated in the same pink and white zebra print paper as the chimney breast. Another miniature black chandelier hung from the low ceiling, its hanging jewels almost scraping the top of Liz’s head. There were only three rooms. After looking in the bathroom, which was also bright pink, and a junk room, which had a Pilates machine buried under boxes of Christmas decorations and old clothes, she headed to the final door at the end of the short hall.
Just like the front room, Polly’s bedroom was impossibly girly. Instead of the hot pink of the rest of the house, she had opted for a more subdued dusky pink. She stepped into the dark room and flicked on the ceiling light. The mirror-sequined lampshade glittered brightly over the walls.
The mixture of sweet perfume and aftershave hit her immediately. Clothes were strewn across the room, making it obvious which side had been Nathan’s.
Hoodies, shirts, and men’s jeans littered one side of the room, while bras, frilly underwear, and dresses littered the other. Liz began by bagging up the dirty clothes, and after a quick inspection of the drawers, she found which belonged to Nathan. Like most men she had known, his collection of clothes was minimal, meaning she was done with them quicker than she expected. The radio turned up downstairs, and Polly’s distinctive girlish giggle drifted up the stairs, warming Liz. She knew she could rely on Nancy to brighten almost any situation.
She moved to the aftershave bottles cluttered on his nightstand. She sniffed a couple, but they were all too strong for her tastes. She thought about the subtle musky fragrance Simon wore, which had an effect on her she could not explain. She wondered if she would ever get close enough to smell it again.
After emptying the bedside drawers without looking too closely at the contents, she moved onto a stack of books on the floor. The top book was coated with a silvery layer of dust, letting her know it had not been read in a while. She picked them up one at a time, pausing to scan over the blurbs. When it came to the last book, she instantly recognised it as Stephen King’s Carrie, a book she had read in her youth after it had done the rounds at the school library.
She flicked through the book on its way to the black bag, but paused when a piece of paper fluttered out, landing by her shoe. She picked it up, assuming it had been used as a crude bookmark. Out of curiosity, she unfolded the piece of paper, surprised that it was a hand-written note scrawled over the top of a wage slip. She looked back at the bedroom door as more giggles drifted up from the sitting room.
For a brief moment, Liz considered tossing the piece of paper without reading it. A small part of her felt wrong for intruding on a dead man’s privacy, but the detective within her was far too curious.
She looked over the letter and read the scribbly handwriting:
‘You can’t keep avoiding me. You better pay me what you owe me, or else. You know I can’t afford to keep doing this. D.’
She turned the letter over, hoping to see more, but there was nothing.
“’You better pay me what you owe me’,” Liz read aloud. “’You know I can’t afford to keep doing this’.”
Liz tossed the Stephen King book into the bag with the others, but she folded the paper and pushed it into the back pocket of her jeans. She knew it might be nothing, and it was far from concrete evidence, but if the letter was from who she thought, it was the best lead she had discovered since the murder.
The music began to vibrate the walls as the radio was cranked up even louder. After quickly folding up Polly’s clothes and changing the bed sheets, she cracked open the window slightly to let some fresh air in before heading downstairs.
When Liz walked into the sitting room with the black bags, she was not surprised to see two empty mugs and a good chunk of the second bottle missing. Even though they were both sloppily pushing CDs into a bag, which had a giant hole in the bottom, Liz was glad to see Polly smiling again.
“We’ve had a great idea,” Nancy exclaimed when she spotted Liz. “Haven’t we, Polly?”
Polly pushed her finger against her lips and shushed, her eyes blinking as she forced back a giggle. Liz wondered if it had been such a good idea to leave Nancy and Polly alone after all.
“We should take all this stuff to Misty’s house and dump it on her doorstep,” Nancy said, grabbing the CD rack to drag herself up to her feet. “She wanted him, so she can have him.”
“That is most definitely not a good idea.” Liz cried, planting her hands on her hips. “How quickly did you drink that wine?”
Nancy helped Polly up to her feet, the two women suddenly appearing to be the best of friends.
“Misty will know it’s a joke,” Nancy said. “She’s got a great sense of humour.”
“That woman has no sense of humour,” Polly added with a devious grin as she poured more wine into her mug. “It’s the perfect idea.”
Liz did not want to seem like the old boring one, but she did not have wine or grief clouding her judgement. She picked up her untouched mug and took a sip, but it had been a while since she had been on Nancy and Polly’s level, and she knew it would take more than a giant mug of wine to get there.
“Is that his stuff from my bedroom?” Polly said, swaying slightly as she cast a finger at the black bags by the door. “It’s less than I thought.”
“I think I got it all,” Liz replied, the note burning a hole in her back pocket. “If there’s anything else, I’ll -”
Before Liz could say another word, Polly dived for the bags, almost toppling over as she picked them up.
“Careful,” Liz said as she tried to steady Polly. “What have you two been drinking?”
“We may have done shots,” Nancy said with a shrug as she stuffed more CDs into the bag. “Vodka and wine mix, right?”
Liz’s stomach turned at the thought. She had not drunk so recklessly since her days studying fine art at university. Now that she understood why the women were so drunk, she knew there was nothing she could say to dissuade them.
Polly headed for the front door with the two bags from the bedroom, and Nancy followed with the bags from downstairs, not seeming to notice one was leaking CDs as she weaved past Liz.
“Maybe we should talk about this?” Liz called after them as they hurried down the garden path. “It’s late, and you’ve been drinking.”
Liz had no idea where Misty lived, but Polly seemed to know exactly where she was going. She followed them along the twisting narrow streets as they headed further up the hill. She protested regularly, but she was ignored and met with more giggles.
Polly finally stopped in front of a small, detached house with a neat garden. From the outside, it looked modest, and nothing like the lavish home Misty likely wanted for herself, but it still looked like it cost more to rent than Liz’s small flat.
“If you get caught I had nothing to do with this,” Liz whispered as they crouched behind a bush at the bottom of the garden. “This is the worst possible idea.”
Liz peered over the bush and looked through the front window. The blinds were open, and she spotted Misty walking towards a fridge in a silk negligée. She grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge, unaware that she was being watched.
Still crouching, Polly unclipped the gate. It swung open and creaked into the night, making Liz wince. She looked back to the front window to see if Misty had heard them, but she was pouring a glass of wine. Liz almost bobbed back down as Polly
and Nancy crept along the garden path with the bags, but she spotted movement around the side of the cottage. She squinted into the dark, but she could not see anything. Leaving Polly and Nancy to continue on their journey to the front door, Liz crept to the edge of the bush. She stood up, just in time to see a dark figure running along the side of the house towards the back garden. Nancy and Polly started giggling at nothing, pulling her attention.
“Shush!” Liz flared at them, holding up a finger. “There’s someone -”
As soon as she turned back, the figure had gone. Polly and Nancy dumped the bags on Misty’s doorstep, giggling like naughty schoolchildren. They scurried back down the path towards Liz, who was still looking down the side of the house. Had she imagined it? She blinked hard, sure she had seen something. Before she could decide if she was going to check it out, she locked eyes with Misty through the blinds. Liz smiled apologetically as she let Nancy and Polly drag her back down.
“What have you got me into?” Liz hissed.
9
Liz looked out of her shop window as heavy rain pounded against the road. She had hoped she would not have another quiet day at work, but she could not imagine many people wanting to brave the rain for the sake of some paints.
Letting out a heavy sigh, she sipped some of her green tea before looking back at the stock list Christopher had given her. If things carried on like they were, it did not matter how cheap the she made her prices, she would not be able to stay open forever. She had poured every penny she had ever saved into starting her new life in Scarlet Cove, and part of that new life had been to open her arts and crafts business. She had expected the shop to be turning a small profit by now, but according to the latest spread sheets from her accountant, she was just about breaking even.
The bell above the door rang out, bringing with it the sound of the heavy rain. She shot up, excitement coursing through her, but that excitement quickly turned to dread when the new customer pulled down his hood to reveal that he was not a customer at all.
Simon closed the door behind him before shaking the water off his raincoat. He smiled hesitantly at her, something clutched in his hands.
“Simon?”
“Hi, Liz,” he said uncomfortably as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand while the other offered the small package. “I brought you some cheese.”
She stared at the cheese for a moment, unsure how to react. She met Simon’s eyes, all of the familiar feelings flooding back. She gulped hard, remembering the Natasha shaped wedge between them. Unwilling to pretend a block of cheese would fix things, even if it was delicious, she looked back down at the paperwork; the words blurred together.
Simon hurried across the shop to place the cheese on the edge of the counter. He quickly darted back, as though he had just left her a stick of dynamite.
“Thank you,” she said, forcing a cough as she shuffled through the papers. “No Natasha today?”
“She’s at the farmhouse,” he explained with a shrug as his red nose twitched. “She’s baking with Mum.”
“How lovely.”
“You know she’s just a friend, don’t you?”
“She is?” Liz retorted. “Does she know that?”
Simon squinted at her as though he had no idea what Liz was trying to say. She laughed to herself, wondering if he could really be that naïve.
“I don’t understand,” Simon shot back. “I’ve known her for years. She’s just in a spot of trouble right now, that’s all.”
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Simon. It’s your business what you do.”
“But I feel like I need to explain,” Simon said, taking a brave step forward. “I’m just trying to get her back on her feet.”
Liz placed the papers on the counter. She wanted to believe him, but she had seen the way Natasha looked at him. Liz parted her lips, but she stopped herself when she quickly remembered how Simon had not been in touch since Natasha’s sudden appearance at the farm. When it came down to it, actions spoke louder than words.
“Putting in a stock order?” Simon asked, out of the blue, as he looked down at the paperwork.
“I’m thinking about it,” she replied. “Christopher gave me some details for a new company.”
“C-Christopher?” he said, the words catching in his throat. “You’re trusting him?”
“Yes, Christopher.”
“Why are you letting him help?” Simon huffed. “I thought you didn’t even like him?”
“Why are you helping Natasha?” she replied quickly. “It’s the same thing.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s completely different. He’s trying to worm his way in.”
“It’s just work,” she said as she quickly gathered up the papers. “It’s not like I was ever in love with Christopher.”
“I – I -”
“You’re a good guy, Simon,” Liz said after draining the rest of her green tea. “Natasha is lucky to have you.”
Simon stared at her with wide eyes and flared nostrils. He looked as though he might burst into tears, or trash the shop; Liz hoped for neither.
“I think I should leave,” he said quietly, dropping his head. “I’m sorry I came.”
“Fine,” she shot back.
“Fine,” he echoed.
Simon did not immediately move, and Liz was not sure that she wanted him to. She hated how uncomfortable things were between them. Even if he was just helping Natasha as a friend, it did not explain why he had been giving Liz the cold shoulder for the past week.
When he did finally move, Liz was surprised that he took a step forward, and not back. He stared at her for a moment, his lips tight as his cheeks reddened. He looked as though he was going to say something, and her heart screamed out for him to, so she was more than a little hurt when he scooped up the cheese and headed for the door. He pulled his hood back over his head and stormed off into the rain.
“You stupid woman,” she whispered under her breath as she beat her forehead against the counter. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
Liz had always known she was stubborn. As a child, she had sat at the dinner table for almost five hours because her father had told her she could not leave until she had eaten her broccoli. In the end, her mother had sent her up to her bed, and the broccoli had found its way into the bin. She knew it was never a good idea to get two stubborn people into the middle of a misunderstanding because neither would back down when they needed to.
Liz lifted her head off the counter just in time to see Daniel ducking into the shop. She was just as surprised to see him as she had been when Simon appeared.
“Nice weather we’re having,” Daniel said with a shaky smile. “Do you sell chalk? I’ve been looking everywhere, and I can’t seem to find any.”
Liz walked around the counter, happy that she could help a real customer for once. She picked up a multipack of different coloured chalks before passing it to Daniel.
“You’re a life saver,” he said with a relieved laugh. “I wiped down the menu boards at The Sea Platter before I realised I didn’t have anything to rewrite them with.”
“Changing the menu?” she asked as she walked back to the counter.
“More like the prices,” he admitted. “If things carry on like they are, I’ll be out of business by the end of the week.”
Liz swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. Was this the reality of owning a business in a seasonal tourist town? She punched the item into the till before bagging up the chalk. She handed it over to Daniel, who looked like he was already desperate to leave. She wondered if it had anything to do with their awkward interaction at the restaurant, and if he had been searching for chalk everywhere else so as not to have to face her.
“I was helping Polly get rid of Nathan’s things last night,” she said before Daniel turned to leave. “I found your note.”
“W-what note?”
Liz reached into her back pocket when she realised she was wearing the same jeans as she had at Polly�
��s. She read over the small hand-written note again before dropping it onto the counter. When all of the colour drained from the restaurant owner’s face, she knew she was looking at ‘D’.
“Would I be right in thinking you never got your money back before he died?” Liz asked as she sat on the stool behind the counter. “Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous.”
“No,” he mumbled, his brows drawing together. “No, I didn’t. I know what you must think. I know you’re a detective, and you’re probably assuming -”
“Ex-detective,” she corrected him. “And I’m not assuming anything. I could have taken this straight to the police, but I didn’t.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Daniel said quickly as he reached out for the note with shaky hands. “I only threatened him to rattle his cage. It was stupid. I’d had a couple of beers when I wrote the note. I was hoping it would push him to pay back the money I’d lent him. It was nine hundred pounds, which might not sound a lot, but it’s the difference between me staying open or going bankrupt. Things were going well when I gave him the money. It was early summer, and the weather was good. You never think the good times are going to end, do you? He came to me on a day when I’d had record takings. He said he needed the money to fix his car, and I was the idiot who just handed it over. He said he’d pay me back by the end of the month, but he didn’t. I even tried taking it out of his wages, but he kept saying he had nothing. I felt sorry for him. Things wouldn’t be this bad if Fishy Chris didn’t keep jacking his prices up.”
“And now you’re struggling because of it.”
“When I found out he had two women on the go, I wasn’t surprised,” he said with a dark chuckle. “Must have been expensive keeping up, especially as far as Misty is concerned. Look, I need to go. I’m opening up in half an hour, and I haven’t even started my prep.”
“Wait,” Liz said, jumping up, her hand outstretched. “What do you know about Misty?”
“Listen, I don’t want to get involved,” Daniel said, the chalk in one hand, his other on the door handle. “I went on a date with her when she first arrived in town. She’s ignored my calls since. It wasn’t meant to be. I just want to stay out of things.”
