“Yes, more than, but really, there’s no need,” I protest.
The lights change and Charlie pulls onto the busy road. Not wanting to distract him from his driving or end up arguing over something so trivial, I pocket the money and go back to finishing my muffin.
Twenty minutes later, Charlie brings the car to a stop outside a row of properties tucked behind a low wall edged with shrubbery.
“This is Cate’s home?” Martha checks.
Charlie nods. “Townhouse number five is. Let’s go and have a look around the place.”
I can see two policemen standing guard outside number five’s entrance. Charlie heads off to talk to them. I ferret around in the bag, not sure which notebook to select. Martha joins Charlie and the two officers and it looks as though they’re about to go inside, so I grab the pink leather one and a pen and hurry over to them.
The townhouse is surprisingly spacious inside. An open plan space with a vaulted ceiling and a designer kitchen pretending it’s not a kitchen, with everything hidden away behind glossy white doors, make up the bulk of the main living area.
“She lived here alone?” I check.
One of the policemen, a balding guy with a moustache, nods.
“And what’s the status here?” Charlie asks him.
“We conducted a detailed search of the premises as soon as her death was discovered,” the man continues. “We didn’t find anything suspicious in the house. Nothing to suggest people have been here who shouldn’t be. Nothing to suggest she was planning on doing away with herself by driving a fellow actor’s car off a hilly road.”
“Is her car still in the shop being repaired?” I ask. My brain is losing its battle against sleep deprivation, but I force myself to focus.
“No. It’s been retrieved and taken in for a thorough check over. Nothing suspicious so far though.”
“And what about Ed Kingston’s car? The one she borrowed and crashed in,” Charlie asks.
Across the room, Martha is walking around the place, her eyes taking in every detail.
“We’ve confirmed foul play. The brakes were tampered with, but we’re not sure if the intended victim was Cate Villiers or Ed Kingston. We’ll keep you informed.”
“Have the neighbours been interviewed?” I ask.
The other policeman flips open a notebook. “Yes, all except for the woman who lives at number seven. Miss Winters is her name. We’ve tried several times but there’s no one home.”
“We’ll check again on our way out,” Martha says, already heading for the townhouse’s door.
I smile at the young policeman and Charlie nods his thanks. A woman is almost jogging up the path to the houses, dragging a case behind her, and by the time we’ve reached the car she is hastily unlocking number seven. Perfect, that was well timed. Looks as though the missing neighbour is back from her travels. Martha’s phone buzzes and she gestures for the two of us to go back to the houses without her.
“Hi,” I say, giving the woman, who looks rather worried as we approach her, a reassuring little wave. “Could we have a quick word please?”
She steps into the house and half-closes the door. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Charlie reaches into his pocket to get his agency ID badge and she slams the door in our faces. We exchange a raised-eyebrow look.
“She’s friendly,” Charlie mutters under his breath, then knocks on the door. “Miss Winters, we’re with the police, we’re investigating the death of your neighbour, Cate Villiers. We wanted to check if you’d seen or heard anything suspicious around here.”
The door opens a fraction. “Police you say?”
We both nod. OK – so, it’s another little white lie. We are kind-of with the police. This time Charlie already has his identification in his hand and steps forward so she can easily read it. “Have you been away for a few days? The city police have been knocking on your door, wanting to ask you a few questions.”
“I was visiting my sister in Kelowna. I wanted to get away for a while.” She peers past us as though she’s checking nobody else is around.
She definitely seems worried about something. Does she know who murdered Cate? Did she see something that night and that’s why she did a runner to her sister’s? “I know what you mean, things can get on top of you every so often, can’t they?” I say in soothing tones. “You just need to get away for a while. I’m the same. If you want to talk about it, I’ve been told I’m a good listener and, they do say it helps to talk things through with a person you don’t know who can be more objective.”
Reluctantly she steps back to make room for us to enter the townhouse’s hallway. “You’d better come in.” I cast a furtive glance up and down the road before she shuts and locks the door behind us. Turning towards us, her face ashen, she whispers, “I’m afraid I did see something the other night.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I take charge, ushering the woman towards the sofa. “Sit down. Take your time telling us what happened,” I say with a be-patient warning look at Charlie. He already has his notebook out and pen poised to write everything down. “Can I get you a hot drink? A glass of water?”
Miss Winters shakes her head. She’s swaying back and forth on the edge of the sofa and her feet are jiggling up and down nervously.
“I’m Amber, and this is Charlie.” I rest a hand on top of her own reassuringly. “What’s your first name?”
“Becca.”
I move to sit down next to her. “Becca. That’s a pretty name. Have you lived here long, Becca?”
“Two years.”
“You must like it around here then. It does seem like a lovely suburb of the city.”
No reply.
Charlie starts tapping his pen against his notebook.
“Can you tell us what you saw the other night?” I say gently. “It would be a tremendous help if you could.”
“I was terrified,” she eventually says. “When I told Jo, that’s my sister, about it and what I’d seen and heard, she said I should get out of the city for a few days.”
I nod. “That sounds like good advice.”
“But you didn’t report whatever it was you saw to the police before you went?” Charlie butts in.
She shakes her head, eyes downcast.
“You can tell us now though, can’t you?” I encourage her.
Still staring at the floor she says, “The noise woke me up.”
“What noise?” I persist.
“A stumbling around kind of noise.”
Now Charlie starts pacing up and down on the crimson rug in front of the TV. He’s getting irritated by this woman’s stalling.
Ignoring his impatience, I continue my questioning. “Did you look to see what the noise was and where it was coming from?”
She nods but doesn’t say anything.
“I need you to tell me exactly what you saw. Can you do that?”
More nodding.
“When was this? When did you hear the noise?”
“The night of the murder,” she says. “I think I saw her killer.”
Charlie stops pacing and spins around to face us. Ah, that got his attention. “What did you see, Miss Winters?”
“A man, he was carrying a body over his shoulder.” She shudders. “We have a communal bit of garden out the back of the houses here. He was walking across the lawn and stumbled against a metal table and chairs, that was the noise I heard. When I looked outside, I saw him and the body. They were in the shadows, but even so, you could still make them out.”
“What time was this?” Charlie demands, narrowing his eyes at her.
Becca backs further onto her sofa, shooting a wary look at Charlie.
“It’s OK,” I reassure her. “Ignore him. Can you remember the time?”
“Yes. It was two fifteen in the morning. I looked at my alarm clock, that’s why I can recall the exact time.”
Charlie fires off more questions. “Would you be able to identify the man? What els
e did you see? Where did he go?”
Now, Becca looks flustered, closing her eyes as though she’s trying to deal with all the questions and struggling to come up with the answers.
“Take your time and think it through,” I say, placing a hand gently on her arm.
“He was wearing a hat so I don’t think I’d recognise him.” She’s speaking slowly, her expression one of intense concentration. “The woman was slung over his shoulder. I saw long blonde hair in a ponytail, just like Cate’s. They disappeared off into the dark and I didn’t hear or see anything after that. I was awake the rest of the night, watching out of the window, so they definitely didn’t come back.”
Charlie mutters something under his breath, strolls into the kitchen area of the house and then beckons me towards him.
“Won’t be a minute,” I say to Becca, getting to my feet. “Are you sure I can’t make you a drink?”
She shakes her head again. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come home yet.”
I see her glance towards her unpacked suitcase, still standing in the hallway, and wonder if she’s contemplating turning right around and heading back to her sister’s in Kelowna.
“This doesn’t add up,” Charlie says, and I make a shushing gesture. We don’t want to freak Becca out any further than she already is. He continues but does lower his voice, “Cate died in a car crash miles away from here. How could this woman have seen a man stumbling about in the garden, carrying her body, in the early hours of the morning?”
Hmm. Good point. “What time did the police say the accident happened?”
“It was around the same time,” Charlie confirms.
“Could the killer have put Cate in the car, driven her to the spot where the crash was and then set it up to look like an accident?” I whisper-hiss.
Charlie crosses his arms over his chest and looks as though he’s figuring out if this is feasible. “I’ll double check with them.” He glances towards Becca. “We need to get her to make an official statement to the police.”
I suspect that ‘we’ in these circumstances, means ‘me’. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Over an hour later, I feel dead on my feet. Oops, unfortunate choice of words. Jetlag has me all light-headed and my eyes are struggling to stay open. The weather has become cold and it’s raining, a low mist shrouding the mountains around Vancouver.
“Time to get you to bed,” Charlie says, seeing the state of me.
“Ooohhh, Charlie!” Martha teases. “You’re such a rogue.” She nudges him playfully. “I hate to say, but I don’t think you’ll be getting anywhere with Amber tonight. The poor woman’s in a completely different time zone and about to fall asleep standing up I reckon.”
Sad, but true.
All I register is the jolt of the car as it bumps over the ramp at the entrance to the apartment’s underground car park much later. I have my eyes closed and am hovering on the edge of a blissful sleep.
“Amber! Wake up!” Martha says, leaning into the back seat to nudge me awake.
I manage to wake up sufficiently to complete the journey from car to bed as Charlie eases the SUV into a narrow gap in the underground car park. We take the elevator upstairs and Martha unlocks our apartment. I slip gratefully inside, leaving her and Charlie to sort out who is doing what background checks and following up on the latest information about the case.
In my comatose state I almost don’t spot the note lying on the floor just inches away from the door. Stooping down, I pick it up. It’s probably just a flyer for pizza delivery. Unfolding it, I gasp and a chill runs up my spine. It’s not an advert for pizza, Chinese take away or anything else remotely normal. It is however another note warning us off the case.
Yu stupid? We sed bac off. This your last warning. Next, we shot yu.
Now, my jetlag is forgotten and I’m wide awake. Yanking the door back open I wave the note in front of Martha and Charlie. “Another one! They were here, at our apartment.”
They both read the scrawled bit of paper. “I’ll run some checks on it. See if there are any useable prints, though without any proper suspects, it’s not going to be much help. Still, if there are any, I can put them through the agency database and see if anything turns up.”
“They’re playing games with us,” I say, wishing there was wine or a custard tart (my favourite cake in the whole world) or some other sort of comfort food somewhere in this stupid characterless apartment.
“We’ll soon know who is behind this,” Charlie replies. “Why don’t you go and get some sleep?”
I recognise being fobbed off when I see it, but right now, maybe a shower and some sleep would help me to feel more human – and make me see things more clearly in the morning.
I do take a quick and much-needed shower, trying not to let my thoughts dwell on the fact the killer, or his or her sidekick, is one step ahead of us. Not the best start to our trying to track them down. Pulling on a nightshirt from my case, I’m about to crawl into bed when Martha walks into the bedroom.
“Everything all right?” she asks.
“Fine.” I don’t want to chat. I want to sleep. I need to sleep.
“Sorry, you want to get to sleep. I just came in to get some bits from my bag and then I’ll scoot back into the living area and get on with my financial checks, oh and finding which jerk is leaving these notes.”
I get into bed and pull the sheets up, resting my head against the blissfully thick and soft pillows.
Martha gathers up some items and heads for the door where she pauses and turns back to me. “You’ve got to talk to him, and soon, you do realise that, don’t you?”
“I have been talking to him,” I reply, being deliberately obtuse.
“You know what I mean.” She walks back into the room and sits on the edge of the other bed. “You guys were great together. I hate seeing you like this. It’s obvious you still care about each other. Want to talk about what went wrong?”
I wedge myself into an upright position. “Diva Delilah, Dan and Sarah, are what went wrong,” I manage, then yawn.
“How so?”
She’s not going to let this go, is she? I sigh. I’ll keep the explanation to the edited version. “Charlie and I were working on a case in France. Then Delilah Thomas demanded his presence in LA to work on her latest problem because she’d been receiving some threats or other. Next thing I know there are pictures of her and Charlie holding hands at some fancy showbiz gathering and she’s declaring Charlie is the love of her life.”
“Yes, I know about that. I remember seeing the photos in the papers. They did make a cute couple.” Martha nods enthusiastically and then wrinkles her perfect nose. “It was all a ruse though. Just part of some front she was putting on.”
“That’s what Charlie said it was.”
“And you didn’t believe him.” Martha sighs. “Can I talk frankly with you?”
Before I can answer, she barrels on. “You’ve got to get a grip, Amber. Charlie’s a fantastic guy. Yeah, I know he’s got his faults. Haven’t all men? He can be work obsessed and stubborn, and I don’t think he has a romantic bone in the whole of his body but, at the same time he’s got a lot going for him. Looks. Intelligence. Money.”
“And your point is?” I ask grumpily.
“He adores you. That business with stopping to buy you those notebooks. Now, you’ve got to admit, that was sweet, right? He could have just gone in and grabbed the first notebook he saw without so much as a thought for what you’d like. He could have sent you in to get a book yourself, for that matter. But no, he made the gesture of taking the time to select something he knew you’d like. Now, what does that say to you?”
“It was nice of him,” I concede.
“Right. OK. Now you’re starting to see sense. Next, tell me what Dangerous Dan has got to do with all of this.”
“He said he hated Charlie because Charlie got involved with Sarah, his ex-fiancée. He said Charlie knew all about how Dan was trying to patch things up
between them and get their relationship back on track, yet Charlie started dating Sarah.”
“That’s just sour grapes on Dan’s part.” She pauses, looking thoughtful. “I’ve worked on loads of cases with Charlie and I can’t recall him ever being involved with Sarah. I know they were friends but I didn’t think it was anything more. I’m assuming you haven’t spoken to Charlie about all of this?”
I shake my head.
“And I get the feeling there’s more to this regarding Dan too.”
Why doesn’t she just go away and leave me to fall into a dreamless sleep? She sits on the bed, an expectant look on her face.
“We kissed,” I eventually admit. I feel guilty just saying the words.
“And?” Martha demands. Do I detect a tinge of judgement and disapproval in her tone or is my guilty conscience imagining that’s the case?
“Technically, Dan kissed me, but I wasn’t entirely innocent because for a few seconds, I kissed him back. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed but Dan and Charlie wear the same aftershave and, caught up in the moment, I’d reacted as though it was Charlie kissing me, not Dan.” The words fly out of me before I can stop them.
“So, basically, this is all Dan’s fault,” she says, tilting her head to one side questioningly.
“Not entirely, but he has confused the issue. He painted Charlie to be, shall we say, less than honourable. He also said he wanted to be more than friends with me.”
Martha sighs. “Daniel Stone is a complete and utter pain in the ass. He always has to stir things up. You’re not seriously contemplating ditching Charlie for Dan, are you?”
“Charlie’s the one who has ditched me, remember?” I reply quietly.
Martha moves to sit on my own bed, surprising me with a look of genuine concern. “I can’t remember, can I? You still haven’t fully explained what happened.”
Oh, right. Of course. “I was upset when I saw this stuff in the papers about Charlie and Delilah…” I begin.
Past Perfect: A Fun and Flirty Romantic Mystery (Amber Reed Mystery Book 4) Page 6
