by Polly Holmes
Anger burned deep in her gut. Clair could only imagine what lies that woman had fed Mason. Lies and deception, fuelled by murder. Her pulse raced. She turned to Charlotte and grabbed her shoulders, looking directly into her widened eyes. “Listen very carefully. I have to go and check out a hunch. If you see Mason can you ask him to call me? I’ll try and call him on the way.”
“What hunch? A hunch about the murderer?”
Clair nodded. “Yes.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “You know who it is don’t you?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Who is it?” Charlotte asked eagerly.
Clair shook her head, a sliver of doubt entered her mind. “I’m not a hundred percent sure. I have to go before I miss my chance to find out. Tell Mason to call me.”
“Wait, I’ll come with you, let me tell Liam,” Charlotte said, determination laced her words.
“There’s no time. Besides, I could be wrong. We can’t both leave, you know they always expect us to come up after the speeches to say something about the cake display. It will look bad if neither of us are here. You stay. After all, it was your amazing creative skills that came up with such a fantastic design attributed to our town’s founder. Just please find Mason and tell him to call me and I’ll fill him in.”
“Okay, go,” she said with a shooing action. “I’ll take care of Mason, just be careful.”
Clair nodded and swallowed around the lump in her throat as she hugged her sister tight before turning to leave.
Chapter Thirteen
PANIC GRIPPED MASON hard. He hadn’t seen Clair in over thirty minutes and he was beside himself with worry. She missed the unveiling of her cupcake display. They’d worked so hard on getting it just right, he knew something was wrong when she didn’t front.
An icy finger traced Mason’s spine as he caught sight of an anxious Charlotte hovering by the entry door, searching the guests. He made a beeline for her, Charlotte’s eyes honing in on him as he approached.
“Charlotte, have you seen Clair? I can’t find her anywhere.”
“Mason, there you are. She’s gone,” Charlotte said gripping her purse.
Fear clutched his chest. Gone, what does she mean gone?
“She left to follow a hunch.” Mason struggled to keep up with her. “She was talking about how she may have figured out the murderer, but she couldn’t find you and then she rattled off something about how someone was going to trade barf-green for prison-green…”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up,” he said his heart thrashing inside his chest. “Did you say barf green?”
Charlotte nodded.
“Thanks to Emerson and her annoying babble, there’s only one person wearing barf-green this evening. She thinks Christina, from The Chronicle, is the killer, but why?”
“Christina? No way,” Charlotte said in shock. “She didn’t actually say, she just said that she had a suspicion.”
“Why did she leave?” Mason asked.
“I don’t know, but she wanted you to call her.”
Mason whipped out his phone and dialled Clair’s number, each unanswered ring playing havoc with his nerves. “Come on, Clair…pick up,” he muttered under his breath.
No answer. His fingers moved at double pace, dialling her number once more. This is crazy, why leave? There was only one reason he could think of that she would leave and that is if Christina did. He searched the room for barf green, but she was nowhere in sight. His whole body tensed. “No answer.”
“You don’t think she’s in real danger, do you?” Charlotte asked, her eyes clouded with worry.
Yes, I do. “I’m not waiting around to find out,” he muttered, his fingers punching buttons on his phone. Mason rocked back and forth on his feet waiting impatiently. A gruff voice answered. “Detective, its Mason Hapworth here.”
“What can I do for you, Mr Hapworth, I’m extremely busy,” Anderson barked.
Mason continued. “I have a problem and I’m hoping you can help me.”
“At the moment, my problem is investigating a break-in at your father’s place of business in Watson’s Creek. It seems whoever worked over your house did the same to his office. I’m in the process of investigating a possible lead. I’m pretty sure it’s linked to his murder.”
Break-in? Mason’s blood ran cold. “Actually, I’m worried about Clair McCorrson. She left the dinner and I’m not exactly sure where she went. I was hoping you might be able to help me locate her.” There was a long pause on the end of the line and Mason’s stomach dropped.
“Clair McCorrson, you say?”
“Yes, I’ve tried to ring her but she doesn’t seem to be answering,” Mason said impatiently.
“Mmm, I did receive two garbled messages from her about twenty minutes ago, but I haven’t been able to raise her on the phone to find out what’s going on,” he said in a frustrated tone.
Bile rose in Mason’s throat as his words sank in. “What do you mean garbled message? What did she say?”
“Listen, why don’t you meet me at the station in about forty-five minutes and you can listen to the messages yourself?” he asked.
Forty-five minutes, it might be too late by then. Sweat beaded his forehead and a cold chill set deep in his body. “No,” he snapped. “You may be willing to wait, but I’m not. Please, Detective, I need to know what she said and you did promise to keep me apprised of all developments in the case.”
An impatient sigh echoed down the line. “That, I did. Clair wasn’t very clear in her messages, but the gist of them indicated she had a strong hunch who murdered both your father and Roland Trent, but she didn’t say who.”
That’s old news. “Is that all?” Mason asked, his pulse racing.
“Pretty much. In her second message, she mumbled something about how important it was to go back the where it all started to find the answers. I’ll be tied up for a little while longer here, but I have an officer following it up. I’ll be in touch if I have any news,” Detective Anderson said and rung off.
Mason huffed, the frustration that burned in his belly was now replaced with worry. He pocketed his phone and turned to Charlotte.
“What did he say?” she asked.
“He received two messages from Clair, although they weren’t very clear. She said something about how important it was to go back to where it all started to find the answers.” His eyes narrowed. “What did she mean by that?”
Charlotte shrugged and shook her head, her fingers nervously fiddling with the clasp on her sapphire and diamond necklace.
“Where it all started,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his temple in an effort to alleviate the pounding throb.
Charlotte gasped and her jaw dropped. Her eyes widening with realisation. “Oh, no. She couldn’t have?”
His gaze shot to hers. “Couldn’t have what?”
Charlotte’s eyes darkened. “Think about it, Mason. Where did this whole nightmare begin?” She paused and he shook his head. “It all started when she stumbled across the body…at the Sweets Mansion. She’s gone back to where it all started.”
“The Sweets Mansion… but why?”
Charlotte slapped her forehead. “How could I have been so stupid? She must have followed Christina. So, if Clair is at the Sweets Mansion, then so is Christina. If Clair’s hunch is right, she’s about to walk into an empty house, in the dead of night, with a murderer.”
Mason’s heart forgot to beat as he barricaded images of Clair in danger from his mind. How had the evening gotten so out of hand so quickly? There wasn’t time to waste, he had to find Clair, and fast.
“Hey, you, what’s going on?” Liam asked as he sidled up beside Charlotte.
The fear bleeding through Mason’s veins bolted him into action. “I’m heading to the Sweets place to find Clair. I’ll call Detective Anderson on the way, but I need you to call the police station and have someone meet me there.”
“Police?” Liam said, confusion blanked his expression.
C
harlotte nodded. “Right. What if they won’t believe me?”
“Make them,” he said edging toward the exit. “I don’t care what you have to do, go down to the police station and drag them there if you have to, just get them there. It could mean the difference between life and death for Clair.”
****
Clair took a deep breath, relishing the sting of the cool, salty evening air as it filtered through her car. “What are you up to?” she whispered, her hands gripping the steering wheel tight.
She’d tailed Christina from the Gala dinner to The Chronicle, where she’d stopped for less than five minutes. Then she’d gone through the suburban streets and finally to the Sweets Mansion. “So, you’ve come back to the scene of the crime.”
Clair parked her car a few doors down, out of Christina’s line of sight. She stared straight ahead, her shoulders stiff and her jaw set. Up until today this place had been a crime scene. “I guess you’re looking for that one bit of evidence that will put you behind bars.” The phone. “If the police couldn’t find it here, what makes you think you can?”
Clair eased her hand on the cool metal of the door handle, ready to confront the one woman that held her freedom in the palm of her hands. An invisible claw of danger washed over her and her gut tightened.
Am I seriously going to follow a potential murderer into an empty house? How else was she going to find out the truth? If Christina found the phone first, she could destroy it, blowing any chance of them linking her to the murders. Clair got out and locked her car, easing the strap of her handbag over her head and across her chest so it wouldn’t fall off her shoulder. She shivered, the evening had taken a cool turn, the fresh smell of summer rain looming. She looked toward the clear night sky. “Please don’t rain, at least not yet.”
Having had no luck in reaching Detective Anderson while she waited at The Chronicle, she dialled Detective Anderson one more time. “Come on, pick up,” she muttered under her breath. Anderson’s gruff voice bellowed down the line.
“This is Detective Anderson, I’m unable to take your call, but please leave a message and I’ll be in touch soon.”
Another message? But will he get it in time? “Detective Anderson this is Clair McCorrson, again. I think I may have worked out who the killer is. I know you won’t believe me unless I can prove it. That’s where I am now, trying to get the evidence. I’ll be in touch when I have proof. I’m back to where it all started.” Whatever Christina was up to wouldn’t wait, maybe Clair was already too late.
It’s now or never.
A shiver ran down her spine as the cool evening breeze brushed against her body. Her legs were like plasticine, ready to crumble at any minute, but she kept placing one foot in front of the other until she was standing at the bottom of the front steps, her heart pounding in her chest.
The eerie silence of the stark night echoed so loud in her ears it was as if every minuscule noise was amplified a billion decibels, including her heart beat. Why wouldn’t her feet move? Surely the prospect of freedom was worth the risk?
A sudden crash from inside the house robbed her of her next breath. Gasping, her hand flew to cover her mouth and her eyes widened in alarm. What was that? Clair froze to the spot, her gaze locking on to the slim beam of light seeping from an upstairs window. A surge of energy bolted through her veins. If she went in now, there was no chance Christina would see her, since she was upstairs.
Please, please let this nightmare end tonight.
Clair walked up the stairs as if on eggshells, her chest so tight with anxiety she could barely breathe. Her mind conjured up a scene from the old Hitchcock classic, Psycho, as Detective Arbogast entered Norman’s house before ascending to the top of the stairs where his life is abruptly ended.
Clair held her breath, her eyes widening at the semi-open door, just enough to squeeze through. She held her body rigid and edged her way in as if the door and frame were hot lava that would disintegrate her body with the slightest touch.
She’d forgotten she was holding her breath until her lungs burned for air. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the foyer. The only source of light was the stream of moonlight through the window, which was lighting the bottom of the staircase. She could see the deadened image of James Hapworth as clear in her mind as the day she stumbled across his body. The floor still housed a faint stain of blood. Her hand clutched her stomach. I think I’m going to be sick.
Footsteps above her head shook her back to the present and this little adventure would be for nothing if Christina found her before she could get the evidence she needed. Triumph filled her as she spotted a mass of boxes piled up to the right of the staircase. She hadn’t noticed them on her last visit. A perfect hiding place. Careful to conceal herself from view of the stairs she bolted toward the boxes. The smell of the dust and musty wood filled her nostrils and scratched at her throat.
Her pulse intensified and the seconds ticked over as she waited, Christina’s footsteps continued to pound the floorboards above. Why would James’ phone be upstairs? If she murdered James, it’s not like she’d fess up voluntarily.
A moment passed and a thought struck her. I’ve got it, I’ll record her on my Smartphone. Why didn’t I think of it earlier? She felt like kicking herself in the backside. Her absentmindedness could have cost her dearly. Clair eased her hand into her handbag, in the dark her fingers searched for her phone.
Her heart lurched when she saw five missed calls from Mason. She shook the chill in her body off, checked her phone was still on silent from the dinner and set it to record.
“Right, now, it’s only a matter of time before you stuff up and I’ll be here to record everything,” she whispered, chuffed with herself. She really should call Mason, but her gaze shot to a muffled noise coming from the top of the stairs while her heart skipped a beat. Sorry, Mason, you’ll just have to wait, it’s show time.
“Come on, James, I know you did this deliberately. Where is it?” Christina muttered to herself as she descended the staircase.
Clair froze, straining to hear Christina’s words. Did what deliberately? Her gaze checked her phone was recording once more before returning it to her bag. Clair peeked out from behind the stack of boxes, careful to keep out of the beam of Christina’s torch and watched eagerly. She committed Christina’s every movement to memory. In her desperation to find the missing item, she carelessly threw antiquated trinkets left, right and centre. Drop cloths covering the pieces of remaining furniture suddenly hit the floor as Christina grew more desperate.
“What have you done with it, James? It wasn’t at your house or your office. It’s not like you could have taken your phone to the grave with you.” Christina pulled the dresser drawers out, recklessly sifting through the contents piece by piece.
Clair squinted straining to see through the limited moonlight. I was right, she is after his phone. The pieces of the puzzle seemed to fall into place at lightning speed. Oh, my goodness, it was you. It was Christina who’d ransacked Stella’s house searching for the phone and what better time to come and search the scene of the crime when the whole town is at the Founder’s Day gala dinner?
Clair felt the room start to spin around her. She barely noticed the pitter-patter of rain that dotted the roof. Christina had done her best to discredit her, place the blame on her, all to cover up her own evil actions. Clair eased her elbow on the smaller box in front of her, hoping to keep Christina in view as she continued her search of the floor beside the staircase. Within seconds her elbow drove straight through the empty box. She hit the floor with a thud, landing on her hip bone, pain shooting up her spine. She gasped, nausea rolling around in her gut.
Christina spun, her eyes squinting shooting pitchforks in Clair’s direction. “Who’s there? Come on, show yourself,” she demanded shining her torch straight into Clair’s eyes.
“Okay, all right,” Clair said as she threw her hand up to stop the blinding beam. “Do you think you could take that to
rch out of my eyes?”
“Clair McCorrson?” Christina said in a stunned tone. “What are you doing here?”
Her sudden predicament had her chest in knots. She was defenceless and within meters of a murderer. If she stayed on the floor, she’d be a sitting duck. Clair ignored the pain in her lower back and slowly began to push her body off the floor.
“Stop right there,” Christina barked.
Clair froze for a moment but refused to be the victim in this scenario. “Come on, Christina, I’m only standing up so we can chat like civilised people,” she said easing herself to a standing position.
Goosebumps assaulted her body as Christina’s gaze drilled into her. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” Clair said folding her arms across her chest, praying her phone was still recording. “I watched you at the dinner. You were as nervous as a baby foal taking its first steps and it was obvious you were hiding something. So, I followed you when you left the dinner so abruptly, but never in a million years would I have guessed you could kill anyone in cold blood.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Christina nervously rocked from one foot to the other.
Clair’s mind whirled a mile a minute despite the churning in her stomach caused by Christina’s skittish behaviour. Her eyes widened and fear shot up her spine as Christina edged herself toward the small side table, her eyes shooting between Clair and the door. “I think it’s about time the truth came out, and besides it’s just you and me. Who else is here to listen?” Clair could almost hear her heart beating in the silence as Christina mulled over her offer. “I know you killed James and Roland Trent, but what I don’t know is why.”
A smirk gleamed across Christina’s face and she laughed, an evil sound that echoed around the foyer. The next words out of her mouth chilled Clair to the core. “Why not? You’re no match for me. I’ve already taken care of one back-stabbing nuisance.” She shrugged. “What’s one more?”
Clair couldn’t believe her luck. The words spilled from her lips. “So, you admit you killed James?”