‘Wouldn’t it have been quite busy? Perhaps she couldn’t find you.’
‘Possibly,’ Karla admitted. ‘Although she’s got all of our numbers. I went to look for her when that post went up and I couldn’t find her anywhere.’
‘Post?’
Karla groaned. ‘Good job I’m not a criminal, I suck at it. I may as well tell you, I’m surprised Peter didn’t. There was a post, on the school Facebook page, that said our friend Erica’s death . . . that she was murdered. And that one of us did it. I know,’ Karla gave that tinkling laugh again, ‘it’s ridiculous, right? You were here, you know it was an accident. And then there was a podcast last night which threatened to dredge the whole thing up again and unmask a murderer. Completely vulgar. No respect at all. So I knew Mary-Beth would be upset – she was Erica’s best friend.’
‘And what time did this post go up?’
‘I’m not sure . . .’ Karla looked at Felicity.
‘The picnic started at twelve, so probably about twelve forty-five, maybe one?’
‘And you didn’t see Mary-Beth after that?’
Both women shook their heads. ‘No,’ Karla said. ‘We thought she’d taken off early.’
‘But you weren’t concerned?’
Felicity frowned. ‘Why would we be concerned? When you have children, a thousand and one things can stop you from doing whatever it is you have planned. When the twins were two years old, I clean forgot my own birthday. Just woke up, got on with the day and didn’t realise until I checked my emails at the end of the day and saw the date. We assumed she hadn’t even seen the post and had just gone to take the kids to her mum’s – they stay over on a Monday.’
The police officer smiled. ‘Okay, well, if you think of anything that might help – if Mary-Beth confided in you about her marriage or wanting to leave or anything at all that might shed some light on where she’s gone, be sure to let us know. In the meantime, we’ll look up this podcast, the timing does seem suspicious. Perhaps it upset her, and she went away to clear her head.’
‘Yes, to clear her head,’ Karla mused as she closed the door behind them. Or her conscience.
Taking a last look at both screens and seeing two small blonde heads, both face down, and pyjama-clad bottoms shoved into the air, Felicity set the monitors down on the patio table and crept around the edge of the garden until she reached the far end. She’d done this so many times that she had the perfect formula now; she knew the right shoes to wear (either her UGG boots or her fluffy booted slippers), knew where to stand to avoid the security lights flooding the entire back garden with stark white light, knew which boards behind the bushes on the left-hand side were loose enough to sneak through, which she did now, her blouse snagging on the branches of the conifers as she crawled in. She slid aside the loose feather-edge boards and squeezed her athletic frame through and into an identical set of conifers on the other side. Out of the darkness, a hand appeared to guide her through, which she grasped, pushing aside the branches and throwing herself into the arms of the man waiting beyond.
Peter pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her whole body, and in an instant, Felicity felt calmer, safer. He pressed his lips against the top of her head, and she breathed in his scent.
‘You’ve been smoking,’ she said, trying to keep her tone from sounding accusatory. ‘Mary-Beth will hate that.’
‘I know. I’ve just been listening to that fucking podcast again.’
Felicity grimaced. ‘Where are the kids?’ She looked up at the house beyond, which was clothed in darkness.
‘Mary’s mum took them to hers. In case . . . in case I had to go anywhere.’ Peter’s words came out strangled, and Felicity laid a hand on his arm.
‘You really have no idea where she’s gone?’ she whispered, studying his face.
He shook his head but didn’t meet her eyes. ‘I assumed she’d found out about you and taken off to teach me a lesson.’
‘God, when the police came round—’
‘You didn’t tell them about us, did you? That young one – he’s . . . I don’t think he believes that Mary-Beth ran away.’
Felicity shook her head. ‘Of course not. It’s not my place. So you’re saying Mary-Beth didn’t find out about us? Then why would she run away? Are you sure she did?’
Peter shrugged. ‘Maybe not. Maybe she had an accident?’
Felicity wondered why he couldn’t look her in the eye.
‘But—’
‘I don’t know, Fliss,’ he snapped. ‘There’s just literally no sign of where she went after she dropped the kids at her mum’s. Nothing is missing. There’s no suspicious activity in the accounts.’
‘You’ve checked all her accounts?’
‘What do you mean all her accounts? Look, do you want to come in? There’s no one here and . . .’
‘How’s that going to look if the police turn up? No, the twins are asleep but I can’t hear the monitor from inside yours. Listen, I know you must be going crazy over this but there’s bound to be an explanation. Do you think it might be anything to do with the podcast?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose it depends what time she left. That post didn’t go up until after midday, and even then Mary-Beth apparently wasn’t mentioned until the podcast came out on Tuesday night. No one remembers seeing her car after the picnic, but no one remembers not seeing it either. This is all so fucked up.’ He ran his hands over his face and groaned. ‘Why wouldn’t she speak to me? If she was in any kind of trouble, if she had anything to do with what happened to Erica – why just run away?’
‘She couldn’t have had anything to do with what happened to Erica. Erica fell, it was an accident, the coroner said so, remember? And this guy – this Andy Noon, whoever he is – well, he knows nothing.’
‘And who is he? He’s got to be someone from in here, right? From inside Severn Oaks? Which means he’s been watching us – he could be watching us now.’
They both glanced around, as if they might see a periscope sticking up from over the fence.
‘And what’s all that about a diary? If that’s true, he’ll know exactly what Erica knew, which was pretty much everything about everyone. She never could keep her fucking nose out of anything.’
‘Did she know about me?’ Felicity already knew the answer. As Peter said, Erica knew everything.
Peter nodded, and Felicity’s heart sank at the confirmation.
‘She knew. About me and you, about the twins – who their father was . . .’
Felicity squeaked. ‘How the . . .?’
‘Don’t ask me.’ Peter shrugged, and Felicity knew in an instant he was lying. ‘She cornered me at the party and asked if we’d enjoyed the zoo – do you remember, we’d gone the weekend before, while Mary-Beth was away at that spa? A stupid risk, but I’d been so desperate to spend the day with you and the girls. And we were so pleased with ourselves that we’d got away with it. She said she was going to give me a chance to tell Mary-Beth myself – that she had a right to know – and if I didn’t tell her, she would. Then she fell out of that tree house, and Mary-Beth was so upset and—’
‘So what you’re saying is that Erica Spencer threatened to expose you as Dad of the Year on the night she died? That’s just brilliant, Peter. I’m not sure what that’s called in your world, but here in the real world, that’s called a motive. And it lands both of us in it. And now Mary-Beth is gone and . . . oh!’ Felicity clasped a hand to her mouth, felt her chest constrict, and her breathing quickened. ‘Oh God, oh God.’
‘What, what is it?’ Peter grasped her arm. ‘Are you okay? What’s wrong?’
‘They’re going to think you killed her. They’re going to think you killed Erica, and Mary-Beth found out, so you killed her too. And they’re going to think I was in on it. They’re going to think we killed them both, and we’re going to go to prison.’
18
Marcus stepped down from the back of the stage, sweat sticking his too-long fringe
to his forehead and trickling down the back of his neck. His stage highs were the greatest feeling on earth, the kind of euphoria you get when your kids were born, or you drive your first supercar. Back in the auditorium people were still chanting his name – his name – and he knew he would have to take the entire day off tomorrow to reply to middle-of-the-night emails from fans telling him they were so excited to turn their lives around that they couldn’t sleep, thanking him for changing their entire outlook, their whole lives.
He changed lives. It may sound braggish and exaggerated but Marcus Kaplan had lost count of the amount of people who had contacted him over the last two years to say that they had been in the darkest depths of despair and depression, not knowing how they were going to get out of bed and make it through the next day, when they had heard him talking on the TV or the radio and been inspired to start living again. Then there were the lives he saved through his Bringing You Home initiative, funding the search for teenage runaways living on the streets who felt, for one reason or another, they couldn’t go home. Marcus had made it his mission to help as many people in his life as possible. He had been given this gift, this amazing opportunity, and it would be ungrateful of him not to help others. He wasn’t doing it for the recognition, either. Bringing You Home wasn’t an organisation that was often on the news, and he didn’t throw swanky charity balls or show his face in the newspapers constantly.
‘Mr Kaplan, that was amazing.’ The organiser of the event crossed over to Marcus, took him firmly by the hand and shook it. ‘You had the whole room in the palm of your hand. How do you do it? How do you talk with such passion and enthusiasm?’
‘Because I’m genuinely passionate about what I’m talking about,’ Marcus replied with a shrug. ‘You just need to find a subject you love.’
‘Well, the audience sure does love you.’ The organiser beamed. ‘I hope you’ll consider extending your time here? Tonight’s gig was a sell-out, and there were thousands of people on the waiting list, we would love to be able to provide some extra dates.’
‘I’d be happy to talk about that tomorrow,’ Marcus replied with a smile. ‘I’m a bit—’ The words died on his lips as he saw the woman walking towards him. ‘I thought no one was allowed backstage.’
The organiser followed his gaze and his face fell. ‘No one is supposed to be. We have a meet and greet planned on the last night, but they have to pay extra for that, and there are only a hundred spots. No one should be back here. I’m so sorry, Mr Kaplan, I’ll get rid of her immediately.’
Marcus held up his hand. ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘There’s no need for that. I’ll deal with this one myself, just make sure no one else gets back here, okay? I’ve just done a three-hour spot, I don’t need to be mobbed right now, I’m bloody exhausted.’
The organiser nodded his head enthusiastically. There was no way he wanted Marcus unhappy. ‘Of course, of course. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed again, Mr Kaplan, I’m very sorry.’
He glowered at the woman as he passed her and went to speak to the security guard.
‘Marcus . . .’ The woman smiled as she approached him. ‘It’s been a while. I heard your gig tonight, you sounded amazing.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Marcus hissed, his voice low and dangerous. ‘I thought we had an agreement. You’re not supposed to be here.’
His heart thumped in his chest. Why was she breaking their agreement now? God knew, she was the one with all the power in this relationship, just one interview with her could blow everything apart. The boys, Karla, they would never forgive him. His entire reputation, everything he had worked for over the last few years would be shattered with one word from this woman.
The woman held up a hand. ‘You don’t need to worry, I’m not here to cause trouble. I don’t want trouble for you, you must know that. It’s just, I still love you, Marcus. And nothing will ever change that, I don’t think.’
Marcus sighed. ‘We’ve been through all this,’ he said, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘You said you only wanted the best for me. You agreed.’
‘I know.’ The woman shook her head. ‘I know what we agreed, I do just want what’s best for you. I’m not here to cause trouble. It’s just, I miss you.’
Marcus refused to look into the woman’s eyes, those bright blue eyes that he knew so well. He couldn’t look at her, he couldn’t see what his decision had done to her. How he had chosen his career, his family, his money over her.
‘I love you too,’ he said, his voice catching in his throat. ‘I just . . . I just don’t know . . .’
‘I shouldn’t have come here.’ The woman began to back away quickly. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, I know what we agreed. We can’t be seen together.’
‘No, no, I’m glad you did.’ Marcus caught hold of her hand as she turned to leave. ‘Really, I’m glad you did, it’s good to see you. I just can’t . . .’
The woman looked up past him sadly. ‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘You just can’t tell the truth now.’
19
‘I’m so glad you could all make it.’ Miranda stood in front of the group and smoothed down her shoulder-length auburn hair. It would have been so much easier to do this at Karla’s , she thought, looking at the large group of people assembled in her living room on an assortment of dining-room chairs, sofas and the floor, but then that would have put Karla Kaplan front and centre, and that would defeat the object. This was her job, as Erica’s successor to the head of the Neighbourhood Watch, and as much as Alex had grumbled about having to go out late last night for an array of nibbles and refreshments, she did love to play hostess. She scanned the faces of the residents of Severn Oaks. Jack Spencer was noticeably missing, along with Mary-Beth of course – but they wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t disappeared. And her husband, working late. Felicity would bloody love that.
‘As you all know, one of our number is currently missing. The police are involved, but it doesn’t seem as though they are treating her disappearance as “high risk” – is that how they put it, Peter?’
Peter King, his face grey and his clothes crumpled, nodded. He looked as though he’d slept in the shirt he was wearing, although it might be more accurate to assume he hadn’t slept at all. It was shocking to see him like this – he was usually so handsomely turned out, his dark hair silvering at the temples but always well styled, his clothes smart, and he always smelled amazing. Miranda wondered how the poor children were coping. She hadn’t seen Hannah and Teddy since the police showed up yesterday.
‘Yeah,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘There were no signs of, um, foul play,’ he took a deep breath, ‘at the house. Her purse, phone and car are gone, although her passport is still here. They are assuming she went of her own accord until there’s evidence to suggest otherwise—’
‘Which we feel there is,’ Miranda interjected, taking charge of the conversation once more. ‘Her bank account hasn’t been accessed since Tuesday, there’s no evidence that clothes or a suitcase are missing, and her toiletries are still at the house. The major issue, however, is that she hasn’t contacted her children, which – as those of us who know Mary-Beth would agree – is very unusual. So I called this meeting to take on some of the things we feel the police should be doing.’
‘But what can we do?’ Simon Barker from number eight asked, quite unnecessarily putting up his hand to speak. Simon was a nice-enough man, always smartly dressed, with a good car and clean, polished shoes, which – in Miranda’s eyes – put him in the ‘right kind of person for Severn Oaks’ bracket. His wife, Gilly, was a thin, mousy woman who kept herself to herself but always chipped in with a helping hand when it came to community matters. They were childless by choice which, of course, meant that they were on the fringe of the community – having children in Severn Oaks gave you the golden ticket into the Parent Brigade – but one could hardly hold that against them at times like these. ‘I mean, what can we do that the police can’t?’
All heads tur
ned at the sound of the front door opening. Alex appeared in the doorway, a bashful, apologetic grin on his face. ‘Sorry I’m late, babe,’ and before Miranda could reply, ‘I bought some of these.’ Alex produced a huge box emblazoned with the words Planet Donut on the front.
Miranda’s anger fizzled down to a tiny spark. Alex had, once again, charmed his way out of trouble. As everyone helped themselves to donuts amid a chorus of ‘I really shouldn’t’, Miranda cleared her throat.
‘Good question, Simon. What can we do that the police aren’t?’ A question Miranda was ready for, of course. She walked brusquely into the dining room and returned with a stack of A4 sheets of paper. ‘I had these printed this morning.’ She began handing them out, Mary-Beth’s face staring up at everyone from each sheet, with the words ‘Have you seen this woman?’ emblazoned across the top. ‘As well as this map of every business in Cheshire. Every coffee shop, hotel, bar and retail outlet. I’ve divided up the areas by colour, and I thought that in pairs we could distribute these leaflets to our designated areas, speak to the business owners and see if anyone has seen anything. We could also—’
‘I thought we were assuming she hadn’t run away?’ Karla interjected. ‘If she’s come to harm she’s hardly going to be shopping in River Island, is she?’
Miranda forced a smile onto her face. ‘Of course not, but by targeting businesses and asking them to display the posters, we are ensuring the maximum number of people see Mary-Beth’s face. That way, if anyone has any information about who might have taken her—’
Peter King made a low, guttural sound in his throat. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I just can’t . . .’
Felicity jumped to her feet and rubbed his arm. ‘It’s okay,’ she soothed, in the way you might speak to a young child who has lost their teddy. ‘She didn’t mean it like that.’
Miranda was sure she did mean it like that – what else were they all doing here if they thought Mary-Beth hadn’t come to harm at the hands of someone else? If she had just taken off with some secret boyfriend then what was the point of all of this? Still, her cheeks coloured at Peter’s obvious distress, and she cleared her throat, hoping to salvage something of the meeting.
Someone Is Lying Page 7
