TICK TOCK RUN (Romantic Mystery Thriller)

by H Elliston

  TICK TOCK RUN

  By H.C.Elliston

  Copyright © 2011 by H.C.Elliston

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form or by any means whatsoever without prior written permission from the author.

  The moral right of H.C.Elliston to be identified as the author of this work of fiction has been asserted.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual events or real persons, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  For my parents who’ve always stood by me, my sister for being a soundboard, my fiancé for putting up with me while I wrote this, my critique buddies for their help, encouragement, and for keeping me going when I was ready to give up, and for my two fabulous dogs... I heart you!

  To readers, a huge thanks for your support! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it.

  CHAPTER 1

  I didn’t want anything to spoil Laura’s special night, which was exactly why I’d decided not to mention what had happened to me earlier today. Not yet. “She’ll go mad, Emma. You know Laura doesn’t like being the centre of attention. Cancel the stripper.”

  “You worry too much.” Emma pulled a bottle of Champagne out of the ice bucket in the limousine. “Top up, anyone?”

  I held my glass out. “You’d better fill Laura’s, too,” I muttered, dreading what the night had in store for her. I settled back into my seat and drank from Champagne flutes with my friends. Electric blue dots rained down on us from the mirrored ceiling. The confetti lightshow created a magical atmosphere for Laura’s hen evening. Everyone seemed so happy, chatting and singing along to Usher as we travelled. The air smelled impossibly sweet and floral.

  “You think these badges’ll work?” Claire asked, pinning one on her dress.

  “It’s worth a shot,” Emma replied. “I figured posing as reporters doing a piece on the local night life might win us a few free drinks. If nothing else, it’s a twist on the usual ‘L’ plates and wedding veil.”

  I smiled at the bride-to-be, decided to worry about the stripper later. “That red dress looks awesome on you, Laura. You’re turning heads tonight.”

  “Thanks, although it doesn’t really go with this stupid Dictaphone for a necklace. Emma gave it to me. I prefer it to having condoms stuck in my hair.”

  The limousine stopped.

  A blinding light flashed my way from Jayne’s long-lense reporter-style camera. “Gotcha!” she said, before the chauffeur cracked open the limousine door. “This camera works fine, Laura. You said it was broken.”

  “I thought it was.”

  One by one we stepped outside, and a rainbow of seven glitzy dresses lined the path. We smoothed our outfits over our hips then linked arms.

  Emma led us inside the second bar of the evening. “Listen up, everyone. We’ve got one hour in here, and then pile back to the limo. This place is Laura’s choice. God knows why. It’s more my style.”

  Multicoloured spotlights shone down on us in the bar. Hot air swept over my face. The place was crammed full. Forty, fifty punters, probably even more. Many of them were squashed shoulder to shoulder in a place not even double the ground floor of my small house. Countless eyes gazed at us while our heels clicked a drum-roll entry across the tiled floor.

  At the far end of the room, light glinted on a chrome dance pole positioned on a stage against a black backdrop. Jayne waved at some guys in the corner to our left while we waited to be served. Emma winked, passed me two drinks, then weaved her way towards the pole followed by Claire, Megan, Jayne and Jess. Laura lingered near the bar. I stayed with her.

  “Just think.” I leaned into Laura. “One week today and you’ll be married. I’m so glad you’ve got... you know... on track again.”

  Laura seemed to be so much happier lately, or at least pretended to be. She gave me a playful nudge with her elbow. “It’s time you moved on, too, Chelsea. Plenty of guys to choose from in here.”

  “Soon,” I muttered half-heartedly. The mere thought of anything to do with dating still sent a shiver of dread wriggling down my spine. I hoped this feeling would disappear come her wedding at the weekend. I turned my attention to our friends who were lining up for the dance pole. I didn’t dare approach the damn thing in case someone thought I too was queuing up for it. “What made you want to come here on your hen evening?” I scanned the bar, taking in its sleaziness.

  “I used to know someone who liked it here.”

  I faced Laura. “Who?”

  She lifted her voice against the loudening music. “No one you know. I just felt the need to check the place out. But, I’m certainly not making a fool out of myself by flashing my knickers on that... pole contraption. Apparently, anyone’s allowed to have a go.”

  Laughter rippled across the bar when Claire took to the dance pole. Laura giggled, and so did I. The word graceful did not spring to mind when we watched her awkwardly spinning around the pole, not unlike a baby chick attempting first flight. At least she received a few claps for her bravery.

  From the left of the staged area, Jayne raised the camera above the crowd and pointed it our way. I pressed my cheek against Laura’s and smiled as it flashed. Then, Jayne waved us over to the pole. While mouthing to her, ‘not in a million,’ a tall man bashed into me, sending me tumbling onto someone behind.

  “Hey! Watch what you’re doing,” I cried out. I aimed a heated stare at the tall, animated man while unknown hands pressed into my lower back and pushed me upright. Drink fizzed over the rim of my beer bottle and spilled onto my dress. “Oh, that’s just great!”

  Busy wolf-whistling, the tall man in front was clearly not going to apologise for knocking me off my feet. He seemed too preoccupied ogling Emma, whose dress inched higher up her tanned thighs with every spin around the pole.

  I was about to shout at him when Laura tugged me back a few steps. “Let’s keep our distance. I think he’s drunk, or on something. Please ignore him, Chelsea. I don’t want any trouble tonight.” She produced a wad of tissues from her bag. “Here. Use these. You’re soaked.”

  “Soaked? I look like I’ve peed myself.” I dabbed my dress and wiped my wet thighs, then whirled around to face the guy who’d pushed me back onto my feet. He was of similar age to us, drinking with six other guys in the corner. They were the group that Jayne had waved to. They all wore dark clothes, and not one smile existed between them.

  “Thanks for catching me. Sorry for banging into you.” I looked away and sipped what remained of my drink.

  “Want another beer?” Laura asked. “How about a shot?”

  I grinned. “Tequila slammers? Give it a few minutes. The bar’s three deep.”

  Snippets of a conversation drifted across from the group of men behind me while we waited for the queue at the bar to go down. “Message... Your number’s up... tick... have you seen this?”

  The words pulled at my memory.

  Laura tapped my arm. “Seen something you like?”

  I faced her. “What?”

  “A guy. Who’s caught your eye?”

  “No one. I was listening, not eyeing them up.”

  “It’s not a crime to fancy someone. Which one do you like?”

  “It’s not a guy, all right?”

  “What then?”

  I paused, considering keeping schtum. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I opened a really weird email before the limousine picked me up tonight.”

  “Weird?”

  A phrase from a random email struck me as an odd topic for a group of men in a bar bursting wi
th enough scantily-clad women to fuel conversation for the whole night. Even so, I tilted my head their way to listen again.

  The words ‘It sounds like they’re talking about a similar...’ were ready to come out of my mouth to Laura, when I heard the same guy say, “Yeah. Strange. So, he sent that to your mobile?”

  I whispered into Laura’s ear. “False alarm. They’re talking about text messages.”

  Laura tucked a tendril of glossy, black hair behind her ear. Looking disinterested, she swigged her drink and stared around the bar.

  “It was kind of creepy, though.”

  She met my gaze again. “What was? Listening to those guys?”

  “No, silly. The email. When I opened it, the background flashed black at first, but then, a golden countdown timer appeared on the screen.”

  Laura arched an eyebrow. “A timer?”

  I nodded. “It started ticking through the speakers, and the words beneath it were, ‘Tick, tock, your number’s up, people have to pay for what they’ve—’”

  Laura flinched, banging the spout of her bottle on her teeth. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “I told you last week never to open your junk mail. They might contain viruses, and I know you don’t back up your computer files. I’m only thinking of you.”

  I picked at the label on my bottle. “I clicked on it by accident. Anyway, this was quite abusive, personal even. It contained my full name and even called me a slag.”

  “Slag! You’re kidding me?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’ll be a virus, Chelsea. Make sure you delete it straight away.”

  I nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. I guess it’s on my mind because my car’s been keyed. There’s a long scratch on the passenger side.”

  “Really? When did this happen?”

  “Earlier today.”

  “Don’t worry, I know someone who can fix it, cheap.” Laura glanced over my shoulder at the group of men. Something flashed in her eyes which I couldn’t place. “It’s noisy in here. You misheard. They won’t be talking about the same thing. Follow me. Let’s get those shots and try these reporter badges out for size.”

  I scanned the serving area. The queue had thinned, so we headed over. “Two bottles of beer and two tequila slammers, please,” I shouted, pouting and nudging my way to the front, ensuring my badge clipped above my left breast was in full view. The barman winked at me, then lined up our drinks. I paid him, poured a sprinkling of salt onto the back of Laura’s hand, and did the same on mine as the guy next to me complained that he’d been queuing longer than I had.

  “One, two, three,” Laura said. We licked the salt, knocked back the shots, then sucked on wedges of lime. My whole body quivered at the sharpness in my mouth.

  Laura screwed her face up and stuck her tongue out.

  We stepped away from the serving area, but soon got railroaded back near the entrance door where we were standing earlier by a gang of men who were leaving. We lingered, glad of the blast of fresh air when they pushed the door open.

  Laura removed the Dictaphone that was hanging from a cord around her neck. She placed it over my head. “Here, you wear it. It’s annoying me.”

  “Cheers,” I muttered. “This was a stupid idea of Emma’s. Where are all the free drinks she said we’d get?”

  Laura laughed. “We got served fast, so it did that at least. Or maybe the barman fancies you.”

  I rolled my eyes and thought, don’t go there.’

  “A toast to Daryl.” A man behind me said during a song change. I turned and watched him lift his beer glass skyward. “You’ll be sorely missed, mate.”

  I traded a curious look with the guy I’d crashed into earlier. He was also raising his glass. His mousy fringe of hair fell low enough to tickle his eyelashes, and he had a tired-looking face - although not from age, something else.

  I felt obliged to speak, having been caught staring. “Is this a leaving do?”

  His Adam’s apple slid up and down his throat. “Actually, my brother died.”

  Way to put my foot in my mouth. “Sorry to hear that. It’s just that this is a party venue, so, I didn’t expect...”

  He wrinkled his nose and shrugged. “My brother liked this place. That’s why we’re in here. He wouldn’t have wanted us to mope.”

  I smiled in sympathy while wishing I could suck my words back in, then turned to see who was sliding down the dance pole. Megan stepped up next. Jeered on by the crowd, she leapt up high and grabbed the silver pole with one hand. I waited to hear a thump, hoping she’d have a soft landing. Beer and ten-foot dance poles don’t mix.

  “I heard he went crazy,” a man blurted out from the troubled-looking group behind me. “Trashed his flat. Bashed the computer. It looked like he’d been burgled.”

  Another man from the group said, “Closed casket.”

  Goose bumps popped up on my skin.

  “His death was an accident, wasn’t it?”

  “That theory doesn’t wash with me,” the brother rasped. “I hoped you guys could help me understand. Perhaps I’ll do some more digging around, when I get my head together. I intend to find out why he sent me this.” They dropped into a sombre silence.

  I wrenched my attention away and focused on Laura. I hoped she hadn’t listened. Death didn’t sit well with her, not since her parents died so tragically at the end of last year. I hooked her arm. “Come on, let’s join the others.”

  Laura stopped dead and yanked me back. “No way. I’m not going anywhere near that pole.”

  I stood on someone’s foot with my heel, heard an ‘ouch,’ then felt something hard bang onto my toes. The end of my ponytail poked my eye as I looked down. I spotted a mobile phone at my feet. After rubbing the throb out of my toes, I picked the phone up. There was a text message lit up on the screen. It didn’t take more than a second to recognise the words on the first line. I released a tense breath.

  It read: ‘Tick, tock. My number’s up.’

  “What the f…” My bottle slipped from my other hand and smashed on the floor, showering my feet with beer and splinters.

  Laura touched my arm. “What’s wrong?”

  I didn’t answer. Why are the words from my creepy email staring back at me from some stranger’s phone?

  “Is it broken?” The brother of the dead guy held his palm out.

  I stared up. My mouth part open, I locked my gaze on his chestnut eyes. “What’s this message about?”

  He took the phone out of my grip before I could read the rest. “Wish I knew. My brother sent it to me.” He paused, leaned in and lowered his voice. “Just before he died.”

  “No way!” I flinched, but tried to hide it. “What does it mean?” I wound my ponytail around my fingers, and endured several seconds of extreme impatience.

  “Not sure. But I intend to find out. Something’s amiss.”

  I stopped fidgeting, and fixed my gaze on his, not liking the way he’d said that. “Is it a mail shot or something? Do you know of anyone else who’s received the same message?”

  He shook his head then shrugged.

  “Who is your brother? Where did he get that phrase from? Was there a—”

  “Slow down.” He patted the air with his hand. “I don’t know why I’m telling you about my problems, but anyway, I came here tonight to question Daryl’s friends. Turns out they don’t understand this message either. What’s it to you anyway?”

  Laura tugged the back of my dress.

  I nudged her away, hooked my handbag strap over my shoulder, and pointed at the mobile in the guy’s hand. “It sounds weird, I know, but I received a message identical to that, earlier today.” For him to be discussing this with me, a mere stranger, there must be weight behind his concerns. It put me more on edge.

  His eyes widened with interest. “You did?”

  I recalled the countdown timer from my email, and the sound as it beat out
its rhythm of ticks through the speakers. Maybe I’m just a bit paranoid, today. After all, I’d been on tenterhooks for the better part of the year, worrying about Laura, and was still annoyed about the scratch on my car. This is a misunderstanding. “Yes, I did. But, I’m sure it’s not the same message. I mean, that one’s not abusive, right? Can I read it again?”

  “It isn’t abusive.”

  Relief washed over me.

  “Not unless you class the word ‘slag’ as insulting.”

  “Slag?” My wave of relief broke into anxiety. I squeezed my handbag so tight I thought I’d crush my mobile.

  “Yes. That’s why I don’t think the message was directed at me. Daryl would never call me such names.” He angled his head my way. “Are you feeling all right?”

  I rubbed my temple, wanting to erase this bizarre conversation from my brain. “This is all very odd.” I paused to give a little laugh. How eerie to end up in the same bar as this guy. I glanced around and muttered, “I wish someone would let me in on the joke.”

  A hot, fevered stare tightened his eyes. “I don’t see the joke. My brother sent me a strange text, and then he wound up dead... only hours later.”

  Hours later? His words caused my breath to catch in my throat. “Sorry. That came out wrong. It’s just, the word ‘slag’ was also in my message. And to be honest, the only reason I’m asking you about it, instead of partying with my friends, is because I found the whole thing to be quite... creepy, after my car got keyed.” I pointed at his mobile. “I mean, that couldn’t possibly have anything to do with—” I broke off, aware that my question would sound like that of a crazy person.

  He ground his jaw. “Did you know my brother?”

  I shook my head. The name Daryl didn’t strike me as familiar. Laura’s earlier comments jumped into my mind. “Does that message mention anything about a countdown timer? Could he have been warning you about a computer virus doing the rounds? You know, something that kicks in after a time limit?”

  “A time limit? You’re not making sense. Are you drunk? Breathe in a second and let this lady pass, will you?” He slid his hand gingerly around my waist and pulled me close, jamming the Dictaphone between our chests. The lady passed and Lee backed away. Then he stared down at my fake reporter badge. He harrumphed, then clamped his lips together. They almost disappeared. “You’re a reporter? That recorder had better not be switched on.”