Past Perfect: A Fun and Flirty Romantic Mystery (Amber Reed Mystery Book 4)

by Zanna Mackenzie

  That figures. I pause in my packing and take in her leggings and T-shirt. “Do you need to get changed before we leave for the airport?”

  Fiddling with the handle on her mug, she avoids looking at me. “I’m not going back to the UK with you guys.”

  “Oh?” Pausing from flinging clothes into my case, my heart thuds and my mouth goes dry. I know exactly why she’s not returning with us. Suddenly, it all makes sense.

  “You know I was due to take some leave, right? Before I got shunted from New York to Vancouver to work on this case. Well, I’ve put in a request to take my time off now instead and HQ have approved it.”

  Forcefully wedging a jumper into my case, I say, “So, where are you going to take this holiday time?”

  Cue more fiddling with her mug before she eventually replies, “I thought I’d stay here in Vancouver. I can even keep this apartment for another week, which is great. Means I don’t have to pack, move and then unpack. Plus, the agency were pleased I’m staying on because then I can keep an eye on Charlie and escort him back to the UK when he’s well enough to fly. The hospital think he should be up to travelling in a week or so, especially as the agency are going all no-expense-spared and flying him back in a proper medical set up, not just as a regular passenger. It will be good he’s got somebody with him for the journey.”

  My fingers grip a pair of socks so tightly I think I’m in danger of making a hole right through them. Martha has arranged to stay here with Charlie. It should be me staying with him, not her. But I have to go off on another case and leave him. I can’t hold back the words a second longer. “You like Charlie, don’t you?”

  She’s still not looking at me. “Of course I like him. He’s a good friend.”

  “It’s more than that, and we both know it. You’re going to make a play for him, aren’t you?”

  “He’s not in a fit state for anyone to make a play for him,” she laughs nervously.

  I stuff the socks into the top of my case and zip it up more forcibly than necessary. “At least have the decency to be honest with me.”

  “Yes.” Finally she looks me in the eye. “I’m sorry, Amber. I do like him, a lot. And the two of you aren’t together anymore, so…”

  “We haven’t officially broken up,” I protest. “We’re still on a break. Charlie and I will figure things out as soon as he’s not dosed up on pain medication and doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

  At least I hope we will.

  “All of that stuff, the makeover for the party, was that about sabotaging my chances with Charlie? Did you deliberately create a look for me that Charlie would hate?” I can’t believe I’m even thinking along these lines. I thought Martha was being my friend. She is good at playing a role, isn’t she? Certainly had me fooled.

  She shrugs. “Sorry.”

  Dragging my case off the bed, I stomp for the door, anger threatening to burst out of me and make me do something I really shouldn’t. Like pin Martha to the floor and slap her silly. Yeah, right. As if she’d ever let me do that. She’s a trained special agent and I’m just the support officer.

  “Charlie’s concerned about working on cases with a woman he’s involved with,” I say venomously. “He blames the fact he was so worried about me and the issues between us for him ending up being kidnapped. So, even if we are broken up, why would he let history repeat itself and get involved with you? Another co-worker.”

  “Because there’s a big difference, Amber. I’m a trained specialist. I’m more than capable of looking after myself. But you, well, you’re just the support officer and he feels responsible for keeping you safe.”

  Just the support officer. There’s so much I want to yell at her, but what would be the point? Right now, I have to go and catch a flight. I draw in a breath and then slam the door behind me with every ounce of anger and strength I can muster.

  Dan has a taxi waiting for us downstairs, and I fling my stuff into the boot and clamber in next to him. After fifteen minutes of silence he says, “You can talk to me, you know.”

  I stop glaring out of the window of the taxi at the Vancouver traffic and instead face Dan. “Sorry, I’m not feeling very chatty at the moment.”

  His hand snakes across the back seat towards me but he retracts it a millimetre before his fingers skim my denim-clad knee. “I didn’t mean talk as in make small talk. I meant talk as in talk properly. I know you’re worried about leaving Charlie, but he’s in good hands. He’ll be fine.”

  Something between a snort of derision and a hysterical laugh burbles out of me. “Good hands! That’s exactly what I’m worried about! You do know what Martha’s playing at, don’t you?”

  Dan nods. “Yeah. It’s pretty obvious she’s trying to ensnare Charlie.”

  “And where am I while she puts her masterplan into place? On my way back to bloody England!”

  “Amber, sweetheart, when the agency calls, you jump. We all do. You couldn’t have refused to take this case back in the UK.”

  “I could have tried,” I protest.

  “They want you on this job. They would have shipped you out of Canada quicker than you can blink. You’d have been hauled back to HQ and put on a disciplinary hearing and probation, like I said before. Either way, you wouldn’t have got to stay on in Vancouver. At least this way you get to keep your job.”

  I run both hands through my hair, boiling over in exasperation. “Charlie and I aren’t even officially broken up, and she’s going to seduce him and then it really will be over between us.” Am I kidding myself here? Clinging on to hope, when really there is none.

  Dan lets out a sigh and flops back in his seat, stretching his long legs as far in front of him as the confines of the taxi will allow. “I hate to say this, Amber, but maybe it’s time to let go. The two of you were on a break in the first place because of your irrational fears about him and every other female on the planet. You said you’d try to change. Yet here you are, assuming he’s going to leap into Martha’s arms as soon as she bats her eyelashes at him. If there’s no trust between the two of you, then is your relationship really worth hanging on to?”

  I ignore him and go back to glaring at the traffic. This time his hand doesn’t reach my knee, instead it slips into my right hand and squeezes gently, a gesture of comfort. I choose not to yank my hand out of his. Maybe it’s because Dan’s my friend and he’s trying to help. Maybe it’s because there’s a flicker of something in my feelings for this man which, if I’m honest, I suspect go beyond friendship. But I can’t just switch off my feelings for Charlie. And he did, at last, say he loved me. OK, granted, not long after he told me that, he said it was over between us. While he was on strong pain medication though, and didn’t really know what he was saying.

  Dan breaks into my thoughts. “If you need or want it, I can do a great cheer-up cuddle for friends.”

  My gaze flicks across to him and he smiles. It reaches all the way to his deep brown eyes. He shrugs. “I’m just offering, that’s all.”

  I scoot as far towards him as my seatbelt will allow. He wraps an arm around me and I snuggle in close. He’s right. He does do a wonderful cheer-up cuddle. After a moment or two, I ease away and return to my side of the vehicle. “Dan, do you know much about the process of moving up from support officer to special agent?”

  “Yeah, sure. You just apply to the agency training arm of the CCIA. You’ll need at least one senior level agent to back up your application and recommend you for agent training. Then the powers that be will decide if they think you’re up to the job or not. If they say yes, you’ll be put on an intensive training course. If you pass that, they’ll start introducing some agent tasks into your current support role. You build up from there. More training. More exams to pass. Eventually you can become a level one agent. You’ll need to get a certain number of cases under your belt and accrue a set number of hours in an agent role before you can progress up through the agent ranks until you reach the most senior role within the working division.�
�

  “The most senior role being the rank you and Charlie both hold, right? Level four?”

  Dan nods. “Yeah, Martha and Jack are both the next level down from that as level three agents. They’re allowed to lead investigations. Below them, it’s level two and the lowest is level one. I take it you’re thinking of applying for agent training?”

  I chew on my bottom lip. Am I? If so, why am I? Because I want to prove I don’t need Charlie taking care of me on cases? Because I want to feel as though I’m on a level with Martha? Because I’ve spotted I have an ambitious streak and want to progress my career? I don’t know. Maybe all of these things apply.

  “With experience and confidence, you’d make a good agent,” Dan says as I meet his gaze. “You just need to believe in yourself, Amber. That’s the first critical step. I know you can do this but you need to believe you can too.”

  He’s right. I don’t like what I’ve become. It’s time to ditch the whining, the paranoia and the insecurities. “If I did decide to apply, would you be the senior agent to back up my application?”

  He nods. “Of course I would. No problem.”

  “Thanks, Dan. You’re a good friend.” I wonder if Dan will also back me up, and help me keep my job, if Charlie does still want to try and get me out of the agency once he’s off his painkillers and thinking straight again.

  He beams another smile in my direction. “I am. Always remember that, Amber. And, who knows, maybe one day I’ll get to be more than a colleague and friend.”

  I open my mouth to speak but he lifts both hands in a gesture of innocence. “No pressure. I’m just saying, that’s all.”

  The cab pulls up outside the airport and we gather our bags, pay and thank the driver and head inside to check in for our flight. Was it only a week ago I arrived at this airport filled with a mixture of trepidation and hope? I wanted to see Charlie and get things back on track between us, but at the same time I was nervous our relationship might be over for good. Now, here I am leaving Canada, and the question of whether or not Charlie and I have a future is still hanging ominously over my head. If I’m completely honest with myself, things between us now are looking even worse than they were when I first arrived in Canada. But I don’t want to face up to that reality.

  “Let’s grab a drink,” Dan says, and I nod my agreement.

  I take a seat at a bistro-style table in the airport’s coffee shop. “I’ll have an herbal tea. Make it chamomile. I’ve got a lot whirling round in my head and it might help calm me down a bit.”

  “Your wish is my command,” he says, heading off to get our drinks.

  I know, I think as I watch him flirt with the pretty barista. That’s what worries me. That, and what I’m going to do about Charlie and my job at the agency. Who am I kidding? A relaxing chamomile tea is never going to cut it. I’m in for a ten-hour flight back to the UK with my thoughts and emotions in complete and utter chaos. On second thoughts, forget the tea. I think something alcoholic - and lots of it – is much more in order.

  Find out what happens for Amber and the rest of the team in the next installment of the Amber Reed Mysteries – coming soon!

  And, in the meantime, join CCIA special agent Jack Mathis from this novel in his own romantic comedy mystery when he teams up with wannabe baker Lizzie to try and solve the case of the murdered celebrity chef in the ebook, Murder On The Menu. Read on for an extract….

  CHAPTER ONE

  The door to the kitchen at Viande Et Deux Légumes slams shut behind me and I pause, breathing in the blissfully cool night air. Phew. I survived another shift. It’s been a long day and having to stay late with my creepy chef boss Armand didn’t help matters. The only good things about working at this horribly pretentious restaurant are that I get paid (though it’s a pittance) and sometimes I get to bring home cake. I pat the box in my right hand. Chocolate sponge packed with luscious cherries and laced with eye-wateringly expensive liqueur. Yum. Not only a delicious dessert to savour but also, I admit, a form of culinary comfort. Comfort which I seem to be in desperate need of these days, thanks to fate throwing the proverbial spanner in the works with all the power it could muster. Before, in my old life in London, I had family, friends and a job I loved which paid handsomely. Oh – and there was Adam too. Then that life slid dramatically and chaotically into an almighty mess. Humiliating? Yes. Scary? Definitely. Heart breaking? Absolutely. So, now things are…well, let’s just say they’re pretty different.

  Oh, and I’m eating a lot of cake.

  For the past six hours I’ve been stuck indoors serving ungrateful restaurant patrons and being shouted at by Armand Seville, the chef who owns this place. My feet ache. My head aches. Come to think of it, my whole body aches. Not surprising really, giving the physical demands of my dual jobs. I’m juggling days spent learning how to farm with nights being a waitress, and I’m trying to forget the pain of what went before and instead determinedly embrace the new. I have taken a sabbatical, which is the trendy, slightly less scary term, I believe, for ditching my old life.

  I scurry towards my car which is lurking, as per instructions to staff, right at the back of the dimly lit restaurant parking area. Employees are forbidden from taking up the precious spaces nearest to the doors, those are strictly reserved for customers. I always feel nervous walking across this dark patch of ground, all alone, at this late hour. Which is crazy because the restaurant is in a village called Amswick in the middle of the Cumbrian hills, and I can’t imagine there are any muggers or murderers hiding in the bushes around these parts. Even so, a shiver works its way down my spine. Diving inside my little yellow car, I slam the door shut behind me and start her up. I know, I know, I said her door. Yes, I’m one of those people who names her car. My little yellow VW Beetle is called Daisy. She’s all I have left of my old life. She’s totally impractical for my new rural one, but I can’t bear to part with her. Something catches my eye and my fingers grip Daisy’s steering wheel as I peer into the night. A shadowy figure sprints across the edge of the car park, hood up, only visible for the briefest of glimpses between bushes and patches of moonlight. I gulp. Why would somebody be out here at this time of night?

  Somewhere in the depths of my bag, my mobile phone bursts into life, shattering the stillness of the night. Checking all of Daisy’s doors are locked first, I fumble around and eventually locate my phone. My anxiety hitches up a notch higher when I see who my late night caller is – Adam. I never answer his calls, but I don’t block them either. I suppose seeing his name and getting his calls serves as a painful reminder of how stupid I was and it warns me not to fall into that same trap in the future.

  Slipping the phone back into my bag, I press my foot on the accelerator, eager to get out of here.

  The lights are still on inside the restaurant kitchen as we whiz past and I spot the lanky silhouette of my boss Armand, probably triple checking everything is done to his exacting standards before he goes off upstairs to his apartment above the restaurant.

  Come to think of it, if there were any murderers lying in wait around these parts, then I have a sneaky feeling Armand might well be their first victim. Chefs have a reputation for being volatile, especially the famous ones; it seems to go hand in hand with culinary creativity. Armand, the winner of TV show Culinary Cook Off two years ago, definitely fits that stereotype. He’s loud, obnoxious and nothing is ever good enough. He yells at all his staff. The young guy who started working here a week ago, straight from college, has been hiding in the walk-in fridge every day sobbing his eyes out. Armand is also a sexist pig. He hits on all of the women who work in the kitchen, the restaurant and the bar. One night, only a week after starting my job, he cornered me behind the bins as I took the rubbish bags out. I can still remember his hot garlic breath on my cheek and his hand grasping my wrist. I lied through my teeth and said I was flattered by his offer but I had a fiancé with a black belt in karate waiting for me at home. He’d reached for my left hand and asked where my engagement rin
g was. I’d conjured up yet another little white lie and told him I always left the ring at home when I was working at the restaurant. Then I’d pushed past him as fast as I could, holding my breath and crossing my fingers as I did so, hoping he wouldn’t try anything else. Thankfully, he hadn’t.

  As Daisy and I turn onto the lane and head for home, I shudder at the memory of that night. The following day, still a bit shaken up, I’d nervously shared the details of my unfortunate experience with two of the other waitresses, both of whom had nodded their heads in a sympathetic way, having been through the same thing themselves. Katya, who brings fresh produce to the restaurant, must have overheard us because she looked all uncomfortable and her cheeks flushed red. She scurried out of the kitchen like a scalded cat. I wonder if she’s another female on the end of unwanted attention from Armand. Anyway, it’s shaping up to be like one of those indoctrination ceremonies – all of the young females get hit on by Armand during their first week of employment, and all of the men get constantly yelled at until they become snivelling shadows of their former shelves. Everybody hates Armand with his long hair, beady eyes and faux French accent – he’s actually from Manchester and his real first name is Michael. Even the name of the restaurant is pretentious - Viande Et Deux Légumes – in English it translates as Meat And Two Veg. That’s why, much to Armand’s annoyance, the locals refer to the place as the ‘Veggies’. There are loads of great restaurants in the touristy areas about thirty minutes away, but it’s Armand’s celebrity status which draws people to drive over the scary mountain pass which traverses some of the highest fells in the area, separating there and here, in order to sample the food at the Veggies. Plus, I have to confess, the food is extremely good. He may have his faults, but he’s an amazing chef.