by Polly Holmes
****
Sweat rolled down the side of Cassidy’s temple as she flung off her sheet. The sweltering summer nights had kicked in early. “That’ll teach me to forget to turn the air-conditioner on before I go to bed.” She’d tossed and turned most of the night, the conversation with Christina replaying in her head like a scratched vinyl record. Glistening beams of sunlight streaked through the window, warming her bedroom, and her bedside clock hadn’t even struck 8 a.m.
Christina’s spiteful words left the bitter taste of uncertainty in her mouth. She hadn’t let on to her sisters how much Christina’s harsh words had shattered her confidence. Her mother had spotted Cassidy’s talent for interior design at an early age, nurtured and developed it until she followed in her footsteps with a Bachelor of Design Arts in interior design.
From the state of the lounge room, the only award you’ll be receiving is from the back of a Corn Flakes packet.
“Ahhhhhh,” she screamed into her pillow, letting all her frustration bleed out. She sat upright, throwing her pillow toward the foot of the bed. “Take that, Christina Jacobs. I’ll show you how much talent I have. People in this town love my designs and when they see the amazing design I’ve done on CC’s Cupcake Haven, they’ll be blown away and your comment will be a distant memory.” By the time she’d showered, dressed and headed out to the kitchen, a sense of ease flowed through her body.
“Morning,” she said to Clair as she entered the kitchen. Her gaze scanned the room for Charlotte.
“Don’t bother, she’s gone for a run. Something about trying to get in shape before Christmas so she doesn’t have to count her calories when all the yummy Christmas treats come out.”
“Since when did she start counting calories?” Cassidy asked popping a Caramelito pod in the Nespresso machine. “Her figure looks fine to me.” Her belly grumbled as the smell of barely-cooked toast played havoc on her senses.
“Since Liam emerged on the scene.” Clair fiddled, squeezing the toaster back in the cupboard between the blender and the sandwich press.
Cassidy frowned. “Appears I missed all the fun while I was away. I come home and both my sisters are dating.”
Liam had arrived in Ashton Point a few months back to be Lincoln’s best man at the wedding of the year. The wedding that almost destroyed CC’s Simply Cupcakes. Charlotte had been accused of poisoning her cupcakes with cyanide and murdering poor Mr Hutson. A preposterous accusation. Who in their right mind would kill someone with the tools of their trade?
“I haven’t been able to spend much time with Liam since I’ve been back but he seems really charming and is obviously besotted with Charlotte. I’m really happy for her.”
Clair’s gaze locked onto Cassidy’s and her throaty laugh filled the kitchen. “Besotted? Sounds like you belong in Sherwood Forest with Robin Hood.”
Cassidy opened her mouth to speak but before she could, the belch of the doorbell rang throughout the house, cutting her words short. “Are you expecting anyone?”
Clair’s eyebrows creased as she shook her head. “No. Maybe Charlotte forgot her key when she went for her run. I’ll get it,” she said as she moseyed toward the door.
Cassidy closed her eyes and savoured the warm, frothy liquid as it trickled down the back of her throat. Whoever invented coffee should be given a medal. She waited for the caffeine to hit her bloodstream.
Cassidy’s body tensed and her spine straightened as the testy tone in Clair’s voice boomed down the hallway. “Hey, you can’t barge into our house for no reason.”
Anderson’s heels scraped the tiled floor before stopping in the centre of the kitchen. His eyelids narrowed at Cassidy as she stood by the table, steaming coffee in hand. “I have a reason. I’m glad you’re here, Cassidy. You’re just the McCorrson I was looking for.”
“Me?” Cassidy asked, her gaze shooting from Detective Anderson to his offsider, Robert Loughlin. “Hi, Robert,” she said, a cautious smile edging her upper lip.
“Morning, Cassidy,” he said, squirming. He looked as uncomfortable and she felt.
Detective Anderson pulled a plastic evidence bag from his right inside pocket and held it up for all to see. “Does this look familiar?”
Cassidy felt the blood drain from her face and a sense of foreboding hit her square in the gut. Her words froze in the back of her throat. Yes. My pink, Valentino lace trim scarf, but what’s it doing in an evidence bag?
Anderson grew impatient and took a step closer. “I’ll ask you again. Do you recognise this piece of clothing?”
She could almost hear her heart beating in the silent room as all three stood there, waiting for her answer. Slowly she nodded. “Yes, I recognise that scarf or one like it.”
“So, you admit it’s yours?” Robert asked, moving to stand beside Detective Anderson.
Cassidy folded her arms and glared in Robert’s direction. “I said I recognised it. I never said it was mine.”
“It’s been a long night and I’m in no mood for games, just answer the question,” Anderson snapped.
Cassidy’s eyes widened and she gripped her coffee cup so hard her fingertips were turning white. “I am answering your questions.” You pompous busybody. No need to be rude about it.
“So, you’re denying you own a scarf like this one?” he asked dropping the bag on the kitchen table.
“I’m not denying anything. It looks familiar because I own one similar. I bought mine in New York but you can get them online. Anyone else in this town could have ordered one. It’s a very popular scarf this season.” Her heart lurched at the look of panic on her sisters’ face.
“Why all the questions, Detective?” Clair asked.
He rubbed his five o’clock shadow, his forehead frowning into a monobrow. “I’m afraid this scarf was found wrapped around the neck of a body we found early this morning.”
“Oh, how awful.” Her chest tightened and his words were like a punch to her gut with a steel crowbar. “Who was it?”
“Christina Jacobs.”
The girls exchanged glances as a sudden chill filled the room. Cassidy swallowed the lump in her throat. “And you think because I own one just like it, I did it?” They paused, their silence a confirmation of her guilt. “Are you serious? That is the most preposterous accusation I’ve ever heard.”
“That may be so.” Detective Anderson nodded his head toward the door. “We’d still like for you to come down the station for questioning.”
“What?” The girls blurted in unison.
Cassidy willed herself to stay calm but it wasn’t easy with a certain Detective needling at her focus. Who does he think he is? Sherlock Holmes? “That scarf could belong to anyone and it’s not like Christina had a lot of friends in town.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Clair said. Detective Anderson grimaced at her frustrated tone. “Is this a ritual for you now? Every time you find a corpse, you assume it is one of us. First, Charlotte, then me, and now Cassidy.”
“Is it my fault that every time a body turns up you girls are linked to it in some way?” he asked, his eyes darkening.
Robert’s deep tone calmed the storm brewing in her belly. “Cassidy, no-one is accusing you, and I’m sure this is a big misunderstanding. But there are further developments that would be better discussed down at the station.”
You bet it’s a misunderstanding. “What sort of developments?” Cassidy asked. The knots in her stomach had quadrupled, tethering her insides together.
Anderson sighed, his lips thinning. “We can do this the—” His words were halted by Robert’s guttural, exaggerated cough.
“I think what Detective Anderson means is, if you accompany us to the station, we can sort this out promptly. What do you say?” Robert’s eyes pleaded with her for co-operation.
Cassidy squeezed Clair’s icy hand. “Why not, I have nothing to hide.”
Clair’s jaw dropped in protest. “But…”
She wavered before turning her hesitant gaze t
oward Clair. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure I won’t be long since I had nothing to do with Christina’s death.”
Chapter Three
Cassidy sat still for a few moments, her heart pounding. Why me? This is the first time she’d ever been inside an interrogation room and it sent shivers through her body. Her stomach revolted at the stale, lingering scent of cigarettes and alcohol. She found herself wondering what sad soul had sat in the chair before her.
“Why would anyone think I would kill Christina Jacobs?” she asked under her breath.
Detective Anderson’s deep voice rang out from behind. She gasped, startled by his sudden presence. “That’s a very good question. And one I hope you will be able to answer.”
The tension in his words screamed guilty. “But I didn’t kill her,” Cassidy said with conviction.
He took a seat opposite her and flipped open his notepad. “In the early hours of this morning, we had a report of a break-in at Mr and Mrs Jacobs’ retreat. Upon investigation, we discovered it had been ransacked and the body of Christina Jacobs was wrapped in the material you selected for curtains.”
Cassidy’s pulse sped and she raised an eyebrow in question. “My material?”
His darkened eyes glared up from his notebook. “Yes, your material. We also found this note.” He slid an evidence bag across the table.
YOU OWE ME!
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t write that note. It doesn’t even look like my handwriting.”
The sound of his forced laugh sent icy shivers up her spine. “I think we both know that Christina owed you money. In fact, half of Ashton Point heard it, thanks to your public argument yesterday morning in the Tea 4 Two Café.”
“Yes, but that was just an argument. Things were said in the heat of the moment. She took me by surprise. After all, my clients were her parents, not Christina.” Cassidy folded her arms across her chest and squeezed her fists tight. “I’m sure most people in the café were just as shocked as I was to see her walk through the door.”
“Be that as it may, you can’t deny that you own a scarf exactly like the one we found wrapped around her neck.”
Annoyance at his accusatory attitude started to bubble in her belly. “I won’t deny it. I do own a scarf just like it.”
“We have a witness that identified you exiting The Classic Curl two days ago wearing this scarf. Is that correct?” he asked, pursing his lips together waiting for her response.
Is it? She racked her brain, so much had happened in the last forty-eight hours. Two days ago would make it Friday 2nd December. She vaguely remembered running into Robert Loughlin just after she’d booked a hair appointment with Shelly at The Classic Curl. “You could just say it was Robert, and yes, I ran into him wearing a similar scarf as I came out of the hairdresser. But that still doesn’t prove it’s mine. Anyone could have ordered it online. Like I said, it’s a very popular brand this season.”
Cassidy stiffened and she gazed over the table as he jotted down additional notes. From where she was sitting, it looked bad, very bad. Her calm demeanour was starting to crack. Her nerves began to fray at the seams. “After I ran into Robert, I went straight to the Jacobs’ retreat to continue working.” She paused a moment. “Come to think of it, I didn’t have my scarf when I got home. I left it there, which puts a hole straight in the middle of your investigation.”
Taken aback by her words, he frowned and glared at her. “How so?”
“Well, if, as you say, you had a call about a break-in and I left my scarf there, anyone could have used it to murder Christina. You find the people who broke in and you find your murderer. All I know is it wasn’t me.”
He is unbelievable, she thought as she watched his hand scribble more notes. He sat there, practically ignoring her. She never remembered him being this arrogant before.
Cassidy stood and the searing numbness in her legs was a shock to her system. Gripping the edge of the table for support, she said, “I have been very patient, Detective, and I have answered all your questions. So, if there will be nothing else, I’d like to be on my way.”
She froze as his sturdy gaze held her to the spot. “For now,” he said as he stood, his scraping chair sending shivers up her spine. “But don’t leave town.”
As if you’d let me. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m sure you’ll be in touch,” she said storming from the interrogation room, the jarring movement diffusing the numbness in her legs with every step.
****
“I can’t believe this is happening again,” Charlotte said as she paced the foyer of the police station. “I wish I had been there when Detective Anderson rocked up. I would have happily told him what he could do with his accusations against Cassidy.”
Clair huffed. “Great, then I would have been here alone. Waiting for Cassidy, who is being questioned for murder and you, for unruly behaviour toward a police officer.”
Charlotte pursed her lips and glared at Clair. “Don’t be silly, I would never let that happen. But it’s like there’s some sort of curse on us. Every time something happens in this town, blame it on the McCorrson girls. As if everyone else in this town is innocent.”
Clair sat, irritated by Detective Anderson’s assuming attitude. “I, for one, am pretty sick and tired of it. It’s not like we have spare time to sit around planning the next murder.”
She was due to open CC’s Cupcake Haven by the end of the year, which was three weeks away. How was she supposed to do that if she had to worry about keeping her baby sister out of jail?
Clair’s train of thought was interrupted and her focus turned toward the noise at the counter. Alison, the receptionist, babbled in her high-pitched voice as she spoke somewhat loudly on the phone.
Charlotte flopped down in the seat next to her. “I guess we just wait for Cassidy and go from there. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.”
“I hope you’re right.” Clair’s head was starting to pound. She had way too many errands to run today to be wasting time at the police station. Distraction, I need a distraction. “So, when is Liam due back?” she asked.
Charlotte’s eyes lit up and a blush flooded her expression at the mention of Liam. “Today. I can’t wait to see him. I’ve missed him so much. I know he’s only been gone for five days, but it feels like forever when he goes away for work.”
Liam had been a godsend a few months back. He lent a helping hand to clear Charlotte’s name and restore CC’s Simply Cupcakes’ stellar reputation. Clair hadn’t expected him to stay in Ashton Point after the wedding, but as fate would have it, he and Charlotte had fallen in love. She smiled at her sister’s dreamy gaze.
Clair’s head quickly spun around when the scrape of metal on metal grated on her nerves. Cassidy emerged and Clair’s heart sank through the floor at the dismayed expression on her face. Bolting from the chair, she threw her arms around her sister and felt the tension ease from Cassidy’s body. “Finally. Thank goodness.”
“Are you all right?” Charlotte asked as she joined them in the centre of the foyer.
“Yes. I’m fine,” Cassidy said as she pulled back.
A familiar sensation of déjà vu danced up Clair’s spine. Why is it that I always seem to be spending an excessive amount of time at this police station? “What happened in there?”
“Not a lot,” Cassidy said with a sigh. “They think someone murdered her when they broke into Christina’s parent’s retreat.”
Charlotte frowned, folding her arms across her chest. “That’s it? Did he say anything else?”
Cassidy’s gaze caught Alison’s prying eyes looking their way. She leant in and they followed her lead. “I’d rather not discuss it here.”
Clair smiled, the knot in her gut telling her she knew exactly how Cassidy felt. “Come, let’s get out of here. Charlotte needs to head into the shop anyway. You can tell us what happened when we get there,” she said as she headed toward the exit.
Within seconds, she froze. An unwelcoming sense of dread wa
shed over her as she spotted Kenneth, the local delivery boy, drop a pile of papers on the coffee table in the waiting room. “Oh no… The morning paper. Christina’s death is sure to make the front page.”
“Of course it will. Christina owned the paper and she’s been murdered.” Charlotte paused, sauntering toward the coffee table. “After getting it so wrong and printing false allegations about you and me, Daniel wouldn’t dare print anything about Cassidy before checking first.” She held the paper up toward her sisters. “See?”
Cassidy gasped, swaying on her feet. Clair cursed as she held tight to her arm. “Easy, Cassidy.” Her heart shattered as the headline flashed like a neon sign.
Charlotte’s eyes widened and she turned the paper. “What the… No, no, no this isn’t going to happen again. ‘Third time’s a charm for Ashton Point’s own Cupcake Killers.’ Christina is no longer controlling The Chronicle, so what on earth is Daniel doing printing garbage like this? I thought he was better than that.”
“Beats me,” Clair said. “Last time I spoke to Daniel, he was adamant it was Christina who liked to bend the facts to sell more papers. Now it looks like he’s following in her footsteps.”
Charlotte folded the paper and shoved it into her bag. “We’ll discuss it at the shop.”
****
Cassidy’s fiery insides slowly dissolved as she sipped an icy raspberry lemonade. She stood, leaning against the centre table in the baking room, reading Daniel’s article for the hundredth time. “This is the most ridiculous pack of lies I’ve ever heard. Where did he get this information from, anyway? ‘Has Cassidy McCorrson’s instinct for murder stemmed from her older sisters’ or has she branched out to prove, once and for all, that she is the sister that holds all the cards?’” How totally absurd. Who does he think we are, a serial killing family?