by Polly Holmes
Clair turned, ready to put a stop to Mary-Jane’s interruption, as politely as she could. She didn’t stand a chance against Mary-Jane’s motor mouth.
Mary-Jane stuck her hand out toward Nathan and grinned a cheesy grin. “Hi, I’m Mary-Jane Gregory. I work over at the chemist. Are you new in town? Can’t say I’ve seen you around before. We get so many new faces every day, it’s hard to keep up with them all.”
“Hello, I’m Nathan Bates,” he said shaking her hand.
“What an unusual looking key,” Mary-Jane said, her eyes widening as she inquisitively scanned Nathan’s hand.
“Thanks. It belonged to my father. I was just picking up his belongings.”
Clair chimed in. “He’s Dario Bates son.”
“Who is Dario Bates?” Mary-Jane asked, her blank expression grated on Clair’s nerves.
“I guess you’ll know soon enough,” Nathan said, ignoring the small shake of Clair’s head. “Dario is, or should I say, was Pierre Bellamy.”
Mary-Jane’s jaw hit the ground and an audible gasp caught the attention of nearby shoppers. “Are you serious? He was an imposter? Pierre wasn’t his real name. Will the lies never end? So much deception. How is our town ever going to recover from this nightmare?”
Nathan closed the jewellery case and gathered the remaining possessions from the counter. “I think I’ll be on my way now. Thank you, Clair, for all your help and kindness.”
Clair smiled. “No problem. Charlotte should be back later in the day, if you want to come back in and have a chat to her.”
He nodded and turned to leave. “I might just do that.”
Clair’s lips thinned and a sudden urge to smack Mary-Jane washed over her. She gripped the edge of the counter as she watched his retreating figure exit. It was all she could do to curb the urge. “Was that really necessary, Mary-Jane? The poor guy just found out his father has been murdered.”
“Well, I’m sorry for wanting our community to get back to the way it was before all this murder business started,” Mary-Jane spat. “And who can blame me? You used to be able to go out without worrying about what might happen.”
Clair’s patience was wearing thin. “You still can. Did you say you were here to pick up some cupcakes?”
Mary-Jane’s eyes lit up like the Southern Cross on a cloudy night. She diverted her eyes to the glass display cabinet. “Oh, yes. Can I please have three of the Guinness dark chocolate cupcakes and two of the pumpkin spiced latte cupcakes? To go. Thanks, doll.”
Doll? What the? Clair couldn’t believe how Mary-Jane had flipped. One minute she was scolding Nathan and the next she was as sweet as pie. Talk about a Jekyll and Hyde personality.
“Here you go,” Clair said as she handed a box of cupcakes over. The savoury scent of the pumpkin latte wafted past her nose, reminding her grumbling stomach that it was lunchtime. “If you take these down to Suzi, she will ring them up for you.”
“Thanks, Clair. Bye,” she said, pompously swishing her shoulder-length, black locks as she strutted off.
Clair raised her eyes to the roof. Give me strength, she mouthed and sucked in a deep breath through her nose. She released it slowly, along with her agitation. Retreating to the kitchen area, Clair took a swig of her coffee. Gagging, she swallowed and coughed.
“Yuck. Cold coffee. Really, Clair?” She chastised herself. “You should know better than to drink a coffee made over an hour ago.”
The happy tinkle of the shop phone interrupted her self-scolding. “Hello. CC’s Simply Cupcakes. This is Clair.”
“Clair, thank goodness. This is Savannah,” a breathless voice continued to chat as if unable to stop. “I cannot believe how busy we are this morning. We’ve sold out of all our cupcakes and I was hoping you might be able to run me over a mix of another thirty or so. I’d come myself but Margarete is off again today, with her ankle. Antony is here, but I don’t want to leave him alone, and besides he can only drive an automatic. I do not trust him with my car. I’m desperate.”
Clair giggled, imagining the frazzled look on Savannah’s face. “Calm down. Consider it done, just have a hazelnut coffee ready for me when I get there.”
Savannah gasped in relief. “Absolutely, you’re a lifesaver.”
Clair brushed past the last few hungry customers lined up at the Tea 4 Two Café counter, her gaze scanning the full seating area. Cheery voices chirped and chattered giving the kookaburras outside healthy competition. “Wow, who’d thought you’d be so busy on a Tuesday?”
Antony grabbed the box from her arms. A single continuous bead of sweat trickled down his temple. “Tell me about it. I’m sure Margarete had no idea and we didn’t want to bother her with her sprained ankle and all.”
“Good idea.” The jingle at the door indicated more hungry customers. Clair’s eyes widened in disbelief. Margarete hobbled toward them like a bobbing buoy bouncing around in the ocean. Clair shoved her hands against her hips and glared at her sheepish expression. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t stay at home any longer. I was going stir crazy,” Margarete said in a huff. An expression of frustration clearly plastered on her face. “If I had to sit at home and twiddle my thumbs for one more minute, I was going to self-combust. If I’m going to do nothing, the least I could do is sit here and do it.”
A giggle filled Clair’s chest. Her face suddenly fell. “Wait, how did you get here? Where’s your gorgeous, dedicated driver? You know, McDreamy?”
Antony’s eyebrows raised. “McDreamy?”
“Shouldn’t you be helping Savannah and seeing to the customers?” Margarete said ignoring Antony’s suspicious grin.
Antony nodded and made a quick exit.
“McDreamy?” Clair hinted for information once again.
A warm blush flushed Margarete’s face in seconds. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you’re referring to Logan, he’s off taking his stepmother to visit a friend. He’ll be back later this afternoon. And he’s not my dedicated driver, he’s just a friend.”
“Riiiiiiiight,” Clair said with a sly grin dragging out the word. “If you say so. Either way, you should not be driving on that foot. I would have come and got you. All you had to do was call.”
“Pfft. I am not totally useless.” Margarete staggered to the stool behind the counter and parked herself, her gaze checking out the tables full of satisfied customers. “My foot is actually a lot better today. I’m just using this stick for another day or so and then I’m sure I’ll be back to normal. Looks like I came in just at the right time.”
Antony returned and busied himself with emptying the cupcakes into the display cabinet. “Yes, we’re busy, but it’s nothing Sav and I can’t handle. You should be resting.”
Margarete playfully jabbed Antony in the ribs with her cane. “If you tell me to rest one more time, young man, I’m sure I can find something for you to clean.”
All three burst out laughing, interrupted only by Charlotte’s voice. “Did I miss the joke?”
“What are you doing here?” Clair asked, catching her breath. “I thought you were in Coffs for the day?”
Charlotte plonked her bag down on the counter and sighed. “I was. The meeting didn’t take as long as I thought. I dropped Liam home and saw your car out front. Thought I’d pop in and say hi on my way back to CC’s Simply Cupcakes. Were you and Suzi okay while I was away?”
Clair thoughts drifted back to her unexpected morning customer and sorrow filled her heart once again. Poor Nathan. I can’t imagine what it would be like to find out the father you never knew you had had been murdered.
The tone of Charlotte’s voice took a one-eighty and hit the concern button. “Clair, what happened? What’s wrong?”
Clair paused a moment and the exhibition of concern radiating from Charlotte and Margarete’s faces interrupted her thought pattern. “Oh, gosh. I’m sorry. No nothing’s wrong. I just had an unexpected visitor this morning, that’s all.”
Char
lotte tutted and folded her arms. “Well, come on, don’t leave us hanging. Who was it?”
“Well…” Before she could explain the sinfully sexy voice of Billy Ray Cyrus pumping out Old Town Road blared from her pocket. She held up her finger. “Excuse me. Hello?”
“Clair, this is Kayne Pendleton.”
Clair’s back straightened. “Kayne, what can I do for you?”
“Sorry to bother you. I’m ringing on a somewhat personal nature. I was wondering if you could hook me up with a birthday cake for Alex. I know she loves Charlotte’s cupcakes. She raves about them endlessly. Says that ever since she was introduced to them at The Springs Café, she’s gone up two dress sizes. I can’t see it myself. She looks perfect to me.”
Clair smiled. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
“I tried calling Charlotte, but the phone just rang out.”
Clair covered the mouthpiece of the phone and raised her gaze to Charlotte and whispered, “Check your phone. Kayne says he tried to call you to order a cake for Alex’s birthday.”
Charlotte nodded. “I’ve passed the message on. I’m sure she’ll be in touch soon. By the way, I just wanted to say thank you for sending Nathan over this morning.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Nathan. Nathan Bates. Pierre’s, I mean Dario’s, son, thank you for sending him over to the shop this morning. He mentioned he’d visited the police station and you’d told him what happened to his father. Must have been hard. I’m sorry to say he left on a sour note, thanks to Mary-Jane. She stopped by to pick up some cupcakes to take over to Sheryl. Her health has deteriorated lately. She pretty much had it in for his father the moment he mentioned that he was Dario Bates son. It really gets my goat when locals give our town a bad name.”
Kayne’s silence on the other end of the line sent a warning jolt through her body. “I’m sorry, Clair, but no-one came into the station today claiming to be Dario’s son.”
Who was it then that I spoke to? Oh no, what have I done? She felt the blood drain from her face as the harsh, icy reality of her actions slammed into her like a freight train out of control. The murderer. “I have to go. I’ll be in touch.” Clair hung up on Kayne before he had a chance to fire any questions at her.
She turned and saw the horrified expression on Charlotte’s face. “I’ve done something terrible.”
“I’m guessing it has something to do with Pierre’s son,” Margarete said. Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of Charlotte’s shaking head.
“But I know for a fact Pierre couldn’t have children,” Charlotte snapped.
Clair shuffled from one foot to the other, ignoring Charlotte’s terse tone. “This really isn’t the type of discussion to have in a public forum.”
“Let’s go out back into my office,” Margarete said as the followed her each choosing their own spot in the cell-sized office. “Now, Charlotte, you were saying?”
“A few months back, when we agreed to have Pierre do Mum and Dad’s cake for the party, he and I were supposed to get together and plan it. We’d arranged to meet one evening after hours at work and when I got there, he was so drunk I could barely understand what he was blabbering about. Turns out he had tests done and thanks to a zero sperm count he can’t father children. I don’t know all the details, but apparently, it had something to do with his mother. She was taking some sort of medication to prevent miscarriages. While it worked and she had Pierre, the side effect was his inability to father children.”
“Wow, are you serious?” Clair blurted, heated panic rising inch by inch through her body. “And you didn’t think to mention this?”
Charlotte threw her hands up in the air. “Why would I mention it? It was personal to him and I didn’t think it was my place to share such news. After all, he was drunk and I’m not sure I was supposed to know. I guess he and Olivia were planning a future. How was I supposed to know it would be that important?”
“Okay, let’s just all calm down.” Margarete shot up from her office chair and stood between the girls. “So, Pierre couldn’t have children, which means whoever this Nathan is, he isn’t Dario’s son. He’s an imposter, and if I had to guess, our murderer. Which means it’s doubly important we find him and quick.”
“The key,” Clair whispered, her head swimming as she slapped her forehead.
“What key?” Charlotte asked.
Clair knew she’d screwed up. Her pulse quickened and she stood stock still, Margarete’s pleading gaze imploring her to maintain focus. “Okay. I know I’ve made a complete mess of this, but I promise I’ll do everything in my power to fix it.”
“The key?” Margarete asked in desperation two octaves higher.
“This Nathan guy did a real number on me. I believed every word of his gut-wrenching story. The sorrow and pain in his eyes gutted me.” Fury took over her embarrassment. A ball of anger grew in her belly, ready to shatter her into a gazillion minute pieces upon detonation. “He played me. He played me like the gullible fool that I was, but no more. Pierre had a key in what looked like a jewellery bracelet box. That must have been what this guy was after. We find out what it opens, and we find our imposter.”
“It could open anything,” Margarete said.
Clair shook her head, adrenaline spurring her into action. “No, it doesn’t. If that’s what he’s after, it’s obviously something worth hiding. I’d say in a town like Ashton Point, there could only be a few public places a key like that could open. Think.”
While silence filled the compact room, the energy spiked. Margarete snapped her fingers. “What about a gym locker? There are only two gyms in town.”
“Let’s not forget the country club,” Clair added. “After all, that’s where the murder was. What if he stashed something in one of the lockers and he was meeting someone there after the party?”
“Good idea,” Charlotte said, a smile popped her cheeks and she nodded. “The bus-slash-train station. There’s always lockers there.”
Clair felt like she was stuck in a game of Cluedo. Mrs Scarlet, in the library with the candlestick. She chuckled to herself. “You do realise this may be a long shot.”
“Maybe, but what have we got to lose? Especially me,” Margarete said, desperation edging her voice. “If we leave it to the police, we could miss our chance and I, for one, am not too keen on giving cooking lessons to inmates for the remainder of my natural life.”
“Okay.” Clair pointed at Margarete. “You take the gyms. I’ll take the country club and Charlotte you take the bus station. Be careful and don’t forget to take your phones for evidence. If we come up empty-handed, we hit up Olivia Boothman. She has to know something. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
She gave them a quick run-down on his appearance and what he was wearing, careful to give as much detail as possible.
Here I go again, sleuthing. Best Mason doesn’t find out.
Chapter Sixteen
Margarete swiped her membership card at Fab Fitness and waited for the click of the lock before she pushed through the glass security door, favouring her injured foot. “Darn stupid foot,” she said leaning against the doorframe, her chest heaving for air. Her gaze swept the twenty-four-hour gym. She’d downed some painkillers before she’d left the café. Waiting for them to kick in was agonising.
Empty, thank goodness. Like it’s going to last long.
She limped to the seating area and sat. A moment of recovery was in desperate need. Where was Logan when she needed him? Margarete had tried to call him again between gyms with no success. “At least he can’t get angry with me for not asking for help. I did try and call. I guess his stepmother’s visit is taking longer than expected.”
When she’d entered Big Al’s Gym, she hadn’t expected it to be manned. Weren’t most gyms self-service these days? It surprised her to see Doug behind the counter. The last time she really spoke to him was at Beth and Lincoln’s wedding. He’d not long moved back into town after his disastrous break-up
with his high school sweetheart, Annabelle.
He’s new buff body stunned her and had her heart pumping. He certainly hadn’t looked like that at the wedding. He was no McDreamy, but it couldn’t hurt to admire a healthy, toned male specimen once in a while. She pretended interest in joining Big Al’s in order to do a search for their mysterious visitor. Leaving empty handed and discouraged, she hoped Fab Fitness held better results.
“I hope you ladies are having better luck that I am,” she muttered, hoisting her tired body off the couch. There weren’t many places to search, so she eliminated the easiest first: the ladies’ change rooms. Clear, as she predicted.
Margarete’s hand pulled the change room door open an inch and she froze to the spot, her heart leaping into her throat. A brusque male voice yelling in the corridor stopped her in her tracks. He stood less than five meters from her location.
“That’s your problem, not mind. I don’t give a crap. That was not part of the deal.”
Holy cow, it’s him. Shivers danced over her skin as she peered through the inch gap she’d made. It was hard to get a clear picture. She squinted, closing one eye and the image clarified. His back was to her. Medium height, worn cardigan, short, golden locks of hair that sat just above his neckline and a voice that sent a quake through her body. Shoved under his left arm was a black duffle bag.
Bingo.
“I’ll not put up with your garbage a moment longer,” he said in a frightfully commanding tone.
Margarete strained to hear the voice on the other end of the line. Scattered words here and there, but nothing she could decipher. It did, however, sound high pitched. Maybe it was a woman.
“You’ve got one chance you hear me. One chance.” He paused obviously listening to the other person. “Yes, I know Sabarcle street… Left at the Anglican Church. Where? By the lookout sign. …in twenty minutes and don’t be late, otherwise it can be arranged that you end up just like this town’s beloved chef.”
Margarete’s hand flew to her mouth to mute a gasp rolling up from the base of her chest. She held her breath, her thoughts zoning in on the conversation on repeat in her head.