‘I’m pretty sure Zach is too young to notice,’ Felicity replied. ‘And Bran wouldn’t be caught dead at a community picnic. Besides, I think she looks amazing. If the twins hadn’t completely ruined my stomach and my legs weren’t white enough to blind somebody I’d be flaunting it all too.’
‘Yes, well . . .’ Miranda made an unimpressed noise in the back of her throat. ‘I think it’s inappropriate.’
Karla rolled over and pulled down her glasses. She raised two perfectly plucked eyebrows. ‘Problem, Miranda?’
Miranda gave a sharp laugh like the tinkle of breaking glass. ‘No problem, sweetie. I was just saying how nice it is that we can do this in memory of poor Erica—’
‘Jesus, fuck!’
All eyes spun towards Marcus but rather than apologise for his outburst he handed his phone to Karla, whose face went slack.
‘Bloody hell,’ she muttered, her brows knotting into a frown. ‘Is this on the school page?’
‘Yep,’ Marcus replied. ‘It’s been up over fifteen minutes. Don’t they have an administrator approving their posts?’
‘I’ve told Steph about this a million times,’ Felicity replied. ‘But what do I know? I’m just a bloody social media manager. What does it say?’
‘See for yourself.’ Karla scanned the field and tossed Marcus’s phone to Felicity. ‘Where’s Mary-Beth?’
Felicity’s eyes travelled down the post and she sucked in her breath. ‘Bloody hell, that’s not funny.’
‘I doubt Mary-Beth will think so either,’ Karla said. ‘But I can’t see her anywhere. Should I ring her?’
‘What is it?’ Miranda trilled, looking at Felicity. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m going to go and find her.’ Karla ignored Miranda and pulled on her black leather sandals, desperately trying to poke the straps through the buckles.
‘For God’s sake, will one of you tell me what’s going on?’ Miranda snapped.
Felicity handed the phone to her without saying a word.
Miranda read the post and made a small gurgling sound in her throat. ‘Who posted this? It just says “Andy”.’
‘Click on the name . . .’ Felicity pointed to the screen. ‘That’s the profile. Click on it. Oh, for God’s sake, Miranda, pass it here!’ She grabbed the phone from Miranda and clicked around, shoving it back at her with a tut of exasperation. ‘It’s no use, the profile is private. “To see what Andy shares with friends send him a friend request.”’
Miranda seemed to have frozen to the spot, her mouth hanging open dumbly. And no wonder – after all, she knew precisely who the post was about. And soon, so would everyone else.
‘Has anyone seen Mary-Beth King?’ Karla asked, moving through the crowd of mums herding their children from stall to stall.
‘Karla, hey!’ Cynthia Elcock, Poppy’s mum, grabbed her arm. ‘Have you seen what someone’s posted on the school Facebook page? Is it some kind of joke, does anyone know?’
‘If it is, it’s a pretty sick one.’ Karla grimaced. ‘Have you seen Mary-Beth? She’ll be devastated if she sees this, she and Erica were so close.’
‘No, sorry, I haven’t seen her all day.’ Cynthia shook her head. ‘What is the world coming to when people think things like this are funny?’
‘God knows who thinks this is funny.’
Karla pulled out her own phone and looked around. Dozens of people were doing the same, passing their own phones to their friends, pointing at the screens. She logged in to Facebook and checked again. It was still there, now with comments underneath popping up every few seconds.
THE MURDER OF ERICA SPENCER
A stunning new podcast called The Truth About Erica looks at the events of 28th October 2017 when, while at a Halloween Party, local hero Erica was believed to have fallen from a tree house and died, as a result of too much alcohol.
I know better.
This podcast brings to light new and never-heard evidence that will cast doubt on everything you think you know about this ‘tragic accident’ and expose a murderer living in the prestigious gated community of Severn Oaks. I introduce the six people with the most to gain from Erica’s death, and over the coming weeks I will expose the shocking secrets they are hiding from you all.
Who killed Erica Spencer?
Tune in tomorrow to find out more.
4 comments 42 shares
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Savannah Hepworth
Who is this? Why are you doing this?
Annalise Rodgers
Do you realise Erica’s family can see this?
Haven’t they been through enough?
Gary Holding
REPORTED TO FB AND THE SCHOOL. DISGUSTING.
Francis Carter
I wonder who the six people are?
6
‘Did you find her?’ Miranda heard Felicity ask as Karla arrived back at the group.
Felicity had gathered together all of the children while Marcus and Miranda had stared at each other dumbly, neither knowing what to do or say. Karla shook her head.
Because despite their differences, Erica had been one of them. Okay, she loved to know what was going on in everyone’s lives, had an acerbic sense of humour and was always the first to take over whenever anything needed organising, but those attributes didn’t mean she didn’t have good qualities as well. She was naturally good at organising things, and she never complained about doing the bulk of the work when money needed raising or costumes making. Even the community picnic lacked its usual fanfare this year because she wasn’t at the helm – much as it pained Miranda to admit it. And her death had devastated her husband, Jack, and her two children, Max and Emily, and had left the small community of Severn Oaks and the wider town of Severndale stunned with grief. Ten months on, no one – least of all the people present at that Halloween Party – wanted the details of her death dragged up again.
The phone pressed to Felicity’s ear rang and rang. She cut it off.
‘No one is at the school. I thought teachers were always in school during the holidays? I have Steph’s number – should I call her, do you think? I’m certain she’d have access to the school Facebook page.’
‘She’s the administrator,’ Miranda agreed. ‘And she obviously hasn’t seen it, or she’d have taken it down by now. Perhaps you could give her a call.’
But they both knew it was too late. Damage limitation doesn’t work in primary schools – the one way to ensure information spread fast was to make it gossip-worthy. That was why no one had turned up to buy Easter egg hunt tickets in 2016 – until Erica told everyone that Phoebe Miller and Mr Randall, the PE teacher, were in the habit of using the annexe to meet up for extra-marital activity. Probably on the exact day for which she was selling tickets. In that very annexe! Funny how many people detoured from their usual route to their cars – and how many bought Easter egg hunt tickets, so they wouldn’t look like shameless gossip seekers.
And now here was Erica again – not spreading the rumours, this time, but the subject of them. And so many people had seen the post that, even if it were removed now, there would be talk of nothing else for the rest of the day, probably longer.
‘Why was she a local hero?’ Felicity asked.
‘She saved someone from the river a few years ago. Didn’t you know that?’
Felicity shook her head. ‘I haven’t lived here as long as you, remember?’
‘True, I’m just surprised she didn’t find some way to slip it into the conversation. She usually did. Erica loved to play the hero.’ Karla lowered her voice. ‘I heard she was shagging him, but she forgets that bit when she tells everyone.’
‘What do you think they mean, the six people with the most to gain from Erica’s death ?’ Miranda asked suddenly, as though she had just remembered the others were there. ‘Do you think they mean us?’
‘Of course not,’ Karla snapped. ‘Sorry, fucksake, this is ridiculous.’
Miranda didn’t even have the energy
to admonish Karla for her language around her children. Her entire head hurt, an ache at the back, a pounding at the front – it was the beginning of the mother of all migraines, and she just needed to get home and lie down. As she glanced up she saw a group of six mums huddled together whispering. Two of them were glancing in their direction – both heads turned away as they saw her look over.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘Does anyone have any water? I just need to, I can’t . . .’
‘Migraine?’ Karla, who was usually rolling her eyes at Miranda, or shaking her head when she thought the other woman wasn’t looking, seemed to understand instantly. ‘You go. I’ll take Charity and Logan back to ours for a bit, Zach can shoot some hoops with Logan and Charity can do some arts and crafts. I need to get out of here and call my agent.’
Miranda nodded. Usually, she’d insist on being at any play date with the Kaplans – their parenting was too laissez-faire for her liking – but she felt like all the energy had been sucked out of her with a straw. ‘Thank you. I’ll send Alex over for them as soon as he gets home.’
‘Are you okay to drive, Miranda?’ Marcus asked, genuine concern on his face. ‘I can run you home in your car and Karla can take the kids in ours?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. And thanks again for taking the kids. You two be good, okay? Daddy will pick you up in a short while.’
She barely even waited for her children to reply before turning and stumbling through the staring crowds towards her car, where she sat in the front seat of her Kia Sportage gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles were white.
7
Mary-Beth King leaned against the back door, panting to catch her breath, her chest wracked with sobs. She wiped her sleeve across her face, tears and snot streaking across the arm of her jumper. She let her weak legs give way and slid down onto the floor of the utility room, rested her head against the cold tumble drier. She couldn’t get the noises to stop, the piercing scream, the sickening thud of a body hitting the floor. Thank God the kids were at her mum’s – she felt like she might be losing her mind.
She needed to speak to someone. She should call the police, that was the only thing left to do, the only right thing to do. She could call Karla, or perhaps Felicity, but that would be it – they would make her go to the police, and there would be no way back.
Peter.
She was going to have to tell her husband everything.
Would he leave her? Possibly. But he was the only person who might not. Who might not make her go to the police and confess, who might not leave her to face this alone, who might not turn his back on her.
He was the only person who might help her.
8
‘Police say there will be no further investigation into the death of thirty-seven-year-old Erica Spencer from Severndale . . .’
‘Turn that shit off, will you, please?’ Karla aimed the plastic fly swatter across the expansive granite surface at her son.
Brandon scowled. ‘Don’t you think it’s in our best interest to know about this?’ He pointed to the Alexa speaker on the kitchen windowsill, where the podcaster’s nasal voice continued. ‘He’s talking about something that happened in our community. Nothing exciting ever happens here.’
‘What happened to Erica was not exciting. It was a tragic accident,’ Marcus replied, scooping pasta up with his fork and pointing it at his eldest son. ‘Which happened at our party – or have you forgotten? In the tree house we had to have torn down because your mother was so upset. And this guy is exploiting her family’s grief for salacious entertainment and personal gain.’
‘And only a real asshole would do that,’ Brandon retorted.
Karla dropped her serving spoon into the Le Creuset.
‘Shit!’ She plucked the tomato-soaked spoon out and wiped it on a tea towel. ‘Brandon Kaplan, you apologise to your father! And don’t ever let me hear you use that kind of language at my table again.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ he raised his eyebrows at Brandon. ‘I’ve never exploited anyone for what we have,’ he gestured around at the solid oak kitchen, the wide AGA overflowing with pots and pans, Brandon’s iPad flung carelessly next to the sink, ‘and I don’t see you complaining about living here, or spending the money my salacious entertainment makes.’
‘Alexa, stop,’ Brandon muttered grudgingly, and the unidentifiable voice ceased abruptly.
‘Thank you,’ Karla said, knowing he would be straight up to his room to listen to the rest once dinner was over. ‘The only way to protest people like that is to ignore them completely. If he has no listeners by this time next week, his show will be over, and Erica can rest in peace like she deserves.’
‘Are you kidding?’ ten-year-old Zachary scoffed. ‘Everyone in school is going to be listening to it. This time next week, it’ll be bigger than Serial . Do you really think he’s going to name who killed her at the end?’
‘How many times?’ Karla sighed, pulling a stool up to the island. ‘No one killed her. Erica drank too much and fell out of that tree house – a tragedy, but an accident.’
‘You can plead Peterson as much as you like, but you know how much a small town loves a story,’ Bran said. ‘And people from my school already take the piss out of this place all the time—’
‘Your mum told you to watch your language at the table,’ Marcus chided.
Karla looked at her eldest son curiously. ‘Why do people at your school take the mick out of this place?’ she asked. ‘You mean,’ she gestured around, ‘this place as in Severn Oaks?’
Brandon shrugged. ‘Yeah. ’Cause it’s posh and everyone is so up their own arses. Present company excepted, of course.’
‘Your school is hardly the Bronx, Bran.’
‘Nah, but the other kids don’t have to lock themselves away as if they’re scared they might get infected by the normal folk outside, do they? They joke that one day we’ll make our own schools and grow our own foods and we’ll never have to leave.’ He grinned. ‘Laura calls it the Cult of Kaplan, you know, ’cause we’re in the big house in the middle. With all our disciples around us.’
‘Laura sounds like a charmer,’ Karla retorted, gearing up to ask him more questions on how the outsiders talked about those ‘inside the walls’, but Marcus spoke instead.
‘Who do you think it is?’
‘I thought we were forgetting the whole thing,’ Karla reprimanded. ‘Don’t feed the trolls and all that.’
‘I think it’s got to be someone who lives here,’ replied Brandon, ignoring his mother.
Against her better judgement, Karla couldn’t help herself. ‘That didn’t sound like anyone from Severn Oaks.’
Brandon laughed. ‘Well, it’s not his real voice, is it? What, did you think his name was really Andy Noon too?’
‘What are you on about, not his real voice?’
‘He’s playing it through voice distortion software,’ Brandon explained. ‘And I’m saying “he” but you know it could be a woman, right? It could be anyone .’
‘It could be me . . .’ Zachary joked in his best spooky voice.
‘So what, he – or she, sorry – might not be as old as they sound, either?’
‘Nope.’
‘And—’ The house phone started ringing.
‘Saved by the bell.’ Brandon tossed his fork onto his plate. ‘Can I go?’
Karla dismissed him with a wave of her hand and reached over to pick up the phone.
‘Kaplan residence?’
‘Karla, have you heard it?’ Felicity’s voice was a hush, as though she were afraid someone might be listening in.
‘The stupid podcast thing? Bran just had it on in the kitchen, but I made him turn it off. I hope you’re not worrying yourself about this, Fliss. Erica has been gone nearly a year. The police investigated at the time, they determined there was nothing suspicious about her death. If you start stressing yourself about this now you’ll— Wait there . . . Can I call you back?’
She laid down the phone as Brandon walked back into the kitchen, his face slack and pale.
‘What is it?’ Marcus asked, jumping off his stool and crossing the floor to his son. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Laura just texted,’ Brandon half whispered, all sense of excitement and gossip gone now. ‘She listened to the podcast . . .’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Bran, I told you—’
‘He’s named you two,’ Brandon muttered, looking down at his feet. ‘He says you two are suspects in Erica Spencer’s murder.’
The phone began to ring again.
9
‘Police say there will be no further investigation into the death of thirty-seven-year-old Erica Spencer from Severndale, Cheshire. Mrs Spencer fell to her death at a Halloween party inside the exclusive gated community known as Severn Oaks, but an inquest has concluded that a mixture of drink and the wrong footwear were to blame for the mother of two’s death . . .’
I’m Andy Noon, and you’re listening to the first episode of The Truth About Erica. What you heard there was a news report following a short inquest into Erica Spencer’s death, a death that the police closed as accidental. Yet I’m going to tell you a tale of lies, revenge and deception that ended in a Halloween murder here inside the gated community of Severn Oaks, Cheshire.
On the 28th of October 2017, Erica Spencer, a resident of Severn Oaks for six years, woke up thinking that her day would be like any other. That she would do the food shop, buy the finishing touches for an outfit she was looking forward to wearing to the party that evening, spend time with her friends, then fall into bed with her husband, Jack. She had no idea that one of the smiling faces she greeted that morning would, by that evening, become her murderer.
For those of you who don’t know, Severn Oaks is the place everyone aspires to live, where neighbour loves neighbour, where everybody knows your name and where nobody can penetrate our peaceful existence. It is a safe space – the money and status that pulsate within these walls protect us from the dangers of the big, bad outside world. But what if the danger has been inside the walls all along? On the 28th of October, Erica Spencer would find out.
Someone Is Lying Page 3
