by Agatha Frost
“Your red cheeks.” Claire gave one a pinch. “I can’t believe you’re being secretive with me right now.”
“I’m not,” he said with a laugh. “It’s just … complicated. It won’t go anywhere. I’m probably picking up on flirting that isn’t even happening.” He lifted his glass, and before it reached his lips, he said, “And anyway, we’re not here to talk about my love life or lack thereof. I saw you talking to the daughter. Did you find out what led to your mother’s current employment status?”
“Something to do with pensions.”
“Pension fraud? What’s that when it’s at home?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted, looking across the square to the post office. The only light came from the flat above it. “She didn’t say anything, but I think Berna might be pregnant.”
“What does that have to do with your mother’s sacking?”
“Nothing,” Claire replied, offering a shrug, “but it’s a great motive for murder.”
“Random burglary.”
“I know, I know.” She wafted a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t take away from the fact that it is, though. The police will probably have answers by the morning.”
“And if they don’t?”
“A little civilian investigation never hurt anyone,” she said, scanning the quiet village square. “The dating apps aren’t the only places with red flags right now.”
CHAPTER SIX
“T hese are good,” Sally remarked as she flicked through the crispy sheets filled with watercolour paintings. “Why’s he working in a gym when he can paint like this?”
Sipping her cider, Claire pulled away from the work-in-progress on Ryan’s easel. She joined Sally on the other side of the art studio as children’s laughter and bubbly music floated through the cellar ceiling.
“Ryan doesn’t think he’s all that good.”
“How can he not?” Sally pulled out a painting of a delicate pink rose bouquet. “I’d hang most of these in any house I was trying to sell. What a shame to have them hidden in a cardboard box down in the basement.”
“He didn’t pick up a paintbrush all those years he lived in Spain,” Claire said. “I think it reminded him too much of his mum.”
“She taught him to paint?”
“Paula was an amazing artist.” Claire remembered with a smile. “He only started again once he moved back home.”
“Forget show homes.” Sally swapped the paintings for her red wine. “If he lets me, I might buy one for wherever I end up.”
“How’s the house hunt going?”
“Middling.” She sighed. “You’d think I’d be able to find somewhere considering it’s my job. Turns out being an estate agent makes every viewing a hunt for the cracks and damp I usually try to hypnotise people into not seeing.”
“At least you’ve still got the house.”
“Can’t move until that sells, anyway.” Sally sipped her wine. “I’m hoping for a quick sale. If it weren’t for keeping things normal for the girls, I wouldn’t even have gone back. Too many bad memories.” Standing in front of the easel, Sally took in the half-finished clock tower painting. “Paul’s all settled in his new place. Swanky Manchester penthouse just ’round the corner from his new firm. Screams of a midlife crisis cliché, but he seems to be doing alright.”
“What about you, mate?”
“Oh, I’m well shot of him.” Sally laughed. “Ever since he stopped spitting his dummy out, the divorce has been hurtling along. Had I known it would be this easy, I would have left him years ago. If he wants to live in a city and like pictures of tight twenty-two-year-old fitness models on Instagram all day, he can be my guest.”
“Please tell me you’re not still stalking him online.”
“Only once a week,” she said airily. “Better than once an hour.”
“True.”
“And I get somewhere to ship the kids to a few nights a week.” Sally’s wine clinked Claire’s cider in a toast. “I love them, but I don’t know how Ryan does the full-time parenting thing on his own. That Friday night to Monday morning stretch on my own has been bliss.”
Sally moved in closer, glancing up at the ceiling as the party cheered; someone must have won pass the parcel.
“Speaking of divorce,” she whispered. “Any news from what’s-her-face?”
“Maya,” Claire replied, equally hushed, “and no. Nothing yet.”
“Unbelievable.” Sally clutched her wine to her chest. “What sort of mother leaves and forgets she has two children?”
Claire shrugged. Ryan rarely talked about his estranged wife, Maya – not that she could blame him. They’d lived together and raised their children in Spain for years, until she ran off with Ryan’s friend, never to be heard from again.
“Do you think she’ll show her face?” Sally pushed. “You’d have thought her daughter’s tenth birthday would have been enough to bring her crawling out of the woodwork.”
“She has to, doesn’t she?” asked Claire. “Like you said, two kids. She won’t stay away forever, and Ryan is still technically married to her.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t change things between you two if she does show up.”
“I think it’s more of when not if.”
“Well, she’s not here now.” Sally toasted her glass again. “What’s the latest with you, anyway? Anything to report?”
“If you mean have we kissed yet, then no.”
“Still?”
“Still.”
Claire scanned the studio. It had been a homemade casino when the house belonged to her Uncle Pat. When she’d helped Ryan paint the dark walls to their current bright white, they’d almost kissed … and yet, nothing since.
Kisses on the cheek? Yes.
Never the lips.
“Maybe you need to be the one to do it?” Sally suggested as she rummaged through a basket of half-squeezed paint tubes. “Just grab him and snog him like you would if you were sixteen again.”
“We never kissed when we were sixteen.”
“But you wanted to.” Sally winked. “Have you told him—”
“That I fell in love with him two decades ago?” Claire shook her head. “Don’t be silly. As far as Ryan knows, we’re on the same fresh page. I don’t want to freak him out. It’s too much baggage.”
“Two kids and an estranged wife? I don’t think you’re the one with…”
Sally’s voice trailed off as the door at the top of the staircase opened. Ryan ducked to look at them.
“So, this is where you’re hiding,” he said, motioning for them to come back.
“There’s only so many times I can do the Cha Cha Slide and the Macarena,” Sally said as she left the cellar. “Suppose I should make sure the girls aren’t ripping each other’s hair out. I’ll leave you to it.”
Ryan stuck to the wall as Sally passed him. He took the final few steps down to the studio, his yellow party hat still perched on his head.
“This is excellent,” she said, motioning to the clock painting.
“You think?” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure if the light source made any sense, so I gave up on it.”
Ryan leaned in. For a split second, she thought he had chosen this moment to finally kiss her, but he looked up at the ceiling and whispered, “Your parents are here.”
Claire immediately hurried upstairs. Assuming they wouldn’t attend, given the circumstances, she hadn’t called to check.
But there they were, taking their shoes off in the hallway and carrying a bag filled with presents. She looked around them for a flash of black fabric.
“Don’t worry, little one,” said her father as he hung up his jacket, “your grandmother is at home taking a nap.”
“Went up to see the factory,” Janet said, fluffing her hair in the hall mirror. “We could have driven, but she insisted we walk. Spent the last hour complaining about how exhausted she was from all the exercise.”
“Why did you go up th
ere?”
“She wanted to see it,” said Janet. “Apparently, she used to work there, which was news to me.”
“Grandmother Moreen worked at the candle factory?” Claire arched a brow. “She’s never mentioned that before.”
“In her early twenties,” added Alan. “She probably doesn’t want people thinking she was ever a lowly factory worker and not born a teacher of physical education.”
Presents in hand, Janet joined the hyperactive children and few adults in the front room. Sally and Damon whispered to each other in one corner; the other lingering parents stood opposite.
Amelia, now ten years old, seemed determined to beat Sally’s daughter, Ellie, also aged ten, at musical chairs. Ryan’s son, seven-year-old Hugo, was on his handheld games console in the corner. Sally’s eight-year-old daughter, Aria, watched over his shoulder. There were a few other children from Amelia’s school, but according to Ryan, she hadn’t made many friends since joining Northash Primary.
“Any progress on the case?” Alan whispered as they watched the party from the hallway.
“Confirmed that Mum has been fired,” Claire replied, “and that’s straight from Tomek’s mouth. The daughter confirmed it too. Something to do with fraud and pensions.”
“Fraud?” Alan pulled Claire out of view of the door. “You can’t be serious?”
“That’s what they’re saying.”
“She went to work this morning,” he murmured. “Within twenty minutes, she was back, and she wouldn’t talk about it. Despite the façade right now, she’s not well. She’s never shut me out like this before.”
“Maybe we need to confront her together?” she suggested, glancing over her shoulder towards the party. “Speaking of Eryk’s kids, I overheard his wife yesterday. Seems like she’s in a rush to go back to Poland and take her daughter with her. I know Ramsbottom thinks it’s random—”
“Not anymore,” he interrupted, rubbing his hand across his jaw. “Met up with Harry in Marley’s for lunch. He’s changed his tune. There’s no security camera footage of the burglar.”
“Was he invisible?”
“The cameras were switched off,” he said. “There’s nothing whatsoever from that entire day. It could be a coincidence, but Harry doesn’t seem to think so. He tried talking to Tomek and Leo again, but Tomek has vanished into thin air.”
“Has he done a runner?”
“It’s looking that way.”
“If someone purposefully switched off the cameras it points even more to an inside job.”
“Can’t see it being anything else.” Alan glanced down the hall. “I’d go as far as to say that Tomek and Leo’s original statements are useless. Someone switched off those cameras, which means they knew what they were doing. They had to have worked there or been close to someone who did to know. With Tomek missing from the picture, he’s the likely suspect.”
“He certainly had an attitude when I spoke to him,” Claire revealed. “Leo seemed scared of him. Could he be lying to cover for Tomek? But would Tomek shoot his own father?”
“I wouldn’t like to speculate, but if Tomek isn’t behind it, there’s only one other reason those two boys would cook up a story.”
“They’re protecting someone.”
“Exactly, little one.” He gave her cheek a pat. “You’re a chip off the old block; that’s exactly what I said to Harry. You were right to trust your instincts about that morning not being—”
“What are you two doing whispering out here?” Janet hissed, popping her head around the doorframe. “If you hadn’t noticed, there’s a party going on. You’re not down in your shed now.”
Alan and Claire exchanged a ‘that’s us told’ look before joining everyone else and leaving the case talk behind. The game of musical chairs had ended, and they’d moved onto another round of pass the parcel. If Amelia noticed her mother’s absence, her grin hid it well.
While her parents picked at the small buffet under the window, Claire joined Ryan behind the sofa. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in.
They might not have properly kissed yet, but even with one of the mothers giving her a ‘what’s he doing with her’ look, nothing felt more natural than being close to Ryan. Having his arm around her shoulder was something teenage Claire would have killed for.
“I win!” Ellie cried, ripping the final sheet of paper off the parcel to reveal a small piece of cardboard. “Oh, cool! A V-Bucks gift voucher!”
“A what now?” Claire asked Ryan.
“Something for Fortnite. Don’t ask because I don’t know.” He chuckled. “According to Amelia, putting toys in pass the parcel is lame.”
“Dad!” Amelia cried, running up to him all red-faced. “Adults musical chairs.”
“Yeah!” some of the other kids agreed.
“You in?” Ryan asked.
“Of course.” Claire cracked her neck from side to side. “I’ve never lost a game of musical chairs to you, and I don’t intend to start now.”
Alan was the first out, followed quickly by Janet. One by one, the other parents dropped out. Claire found it satisfying to slide into a chair before the woman who had been eyeballing Ryan’s arm around her. Damon knocked Ryan out, and despite her best efforts, Sally took the penultimate seat, ejecting Claire from the game.
While Sally and Damon stalked each other around the last remaining chair, their eyes locked. Their grins were even wider than the kids’ had been. Claire’s smile faltered as she looked around the room.
“Where’s Mum?” Claire asked her father.
“She just slipped out,” he said from the sofa. “Probably to use the bathroom.”
Leaning against the doorframe, Claire listened for the creaky floorboards in the bathroom upstairs. Nothing. She looked down the hall to the kitchen, and though it was empty, she caught the back gate settling into its frame.
Leaving the party, Claire went to the back door. Before she took the three steps down to the small back garden, she spotted her mother in the garden of the end house to the right. Without taking a moment to think about it, Janet scurried up the three steps, knocked, and vanished inside.
“Damon won,” Ryan said, slipping his hand around Claire’s waist. “Sally’s arguing for a rematch.”
“Sounds like Sally,” she replied, pulling away from the door. “Who lives in the end house?”
“Right now?” He sucked the air through his teeth. “I don’t think anyone’s moved in since Elsie died. Poor woman. Had a heart attack in Starfall Park last month.”
“And you’re sure it’s empty?”
“I think so,” he said with a shrug. “She had a granddaughter living with her, but I haven’t seen her around since. Are you thinking of moving out of your flat already?”
“I saw my mum there,” she said. “Just now. She knocked, and someone let her in.”
“How strange,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Might be squatters?”
“Maybe.” Claire closed the back door. “But what does that have to do with my mum?”
Once back in the party, Janet returned a few minutes later with her easy, breezy, ‘everything is perfectly normal, so please don’t ask’ smile plastered from ear to ear. Ten minutes later, she made her excuses and pulled Alan away from the buffet.
Once Claire’s parents had left, claiming they needed to return to the cul-de-sac before Moreen awoke from her nap, the guests dropped like flies. An hour later, only Ryan and Sally’s kids were running around the house.
“Why don’t you two go and have a few hours of private time?” Sally suggested as Claire and Ryan washed up together at the kitchen sink. “Damon and I will watch the kids.”
“Are you sure?” Ryan asked.
“They’ll be bouncing off the walls for hours yet after all that sugar,” she said with a reassuring nod. “Besides, my girls are getting on with your two properly for the first time, and it would be a shame to pull them apart when they’re having so much fun. Go and have
a drink at the pub or something.”
“It would be nice,” Ryan admitted.
“Yeah,” Claire said, winking her thanks at Sally for offering. “I’d like that.”
Leaving them all to a game of hide and seek in the house, Claire and Ryan left through the front door as the setting summer sun bled orange over Christ Church Square.
“Glad we get to do this,” Ryan said, wrapping his fingers around hers as they walked past Trinity Community Church on the corner of Warton Lane. “Between work and the kids, we never get much time alone.”
“Who knew adulthood would be so busy?” A lump rose in her throat. “How are things?”
“Good,” he replied with a shrug. “Work’s fine. I enjoy it, actually. Kids are enjoying the summer off school.”
“That’s great,” she said. “I more meant between us, though.”
“Oh.” His freckled cheeks flushed red. “I-I don’t know how to answer that.” He paused and asked, “Good? Things are good, aren’t they?”
Claire smiled, not minding his shyness so much now.
“Yeah,” she squeezed his hand. “You’re right. Things are…”
Claire’s voice trailed off as they rounded the corner into the main square. Police cars and vans lined the road as a small crowd watched on from the shadow of the clock tower.
“It’s a circus,” Ryan muttered. “It’s not your shop, is it?”
Claire had worried the same thing, but a few more steps showed that her shop was shut and fine.
Two doors down, the post office lights blared into the darkening square as a line of police officers exited the shop. Each carried a rattling box of what sounded like glass bottles that went into the back of a police van. On the corner, Duncan and Leo talked with two officers taking notes.
“Looks like a raid,” Ryan whispered as they diverted in the direction of The Hesketh Arms.
“Knock-off alcohol and dodgy cigarettes.”
“What?”
“Just something my mum said.” Claire shook her head and leaned into Ryan’s side. “Doesn’t matter.”
Before walking through the pub door Ryan had opened for her, she watched as an officer ducked Leo’s head into the back of a police car.
