by H Elliston
“Maybe he doesn’t realise you’ve found the bag?”
I was trying to wrap my head around my questions when a shiver crawled up my back. Well, a shiver would have been a huge understatement. It was more like a long slithery creature had borrowed my spine to use as a ladder.
“I texted him. Mark definitely knows I found this bag,” I said with conviction. “So surely, by now, he’s realised he’s screwed up.”
“I guess so.”
I waved the rucksack in the air. “Then why isn’t he panicking? Why isn’t he running round your house, tearing it apart like a madman who’s got a live firework in his pocket, searching for this, rather than that photo?” I dropped the bag on the table, grabbed a few of the items and waved them at Laura. As I let go, a blemish on the photograph of Daryl caught my eye. The photo was creased and slit, but one of the lines on the left side was not a crease, but a scratch, like a line on an antique photo.
I’d seen that somewhere before.
CHAPTER 31
I’d been so busy keeping the problem under wraps, that I’d failed to notice the obvious. “This rucksack was placed in the garage in order to be found.” I lowered my voice. “But not yet.”
She leaned into me, parking her nose at the side of my face. “Chelsea, what are you saying? You’re scaring me.”
It was as if I’d just looked at the clues through a high-density flat screen. Everything became instantly sharper, clearer in all its sordid glory. “I know who it is.”
She gasped. “Who?”
I’d gotten Mark all wrong. His only fault was being in love with Laura. I hesitated to say the unthinkable. “It’s not Mark.”
“Oh! Thank goodness for that! Because he’s such a great guy and if it wasn’t for Paul then maybe—”
“It’s Paul!”
“Say what?” Laura jerked away from me. “Shut your mouth, Chelsea! It’s not. It’s not.” She grunted, grabbed the rucksack and tried to rip it in half. A second later, she launched it across the room, and then kicked a chair onto its side. Her burning stare made her look ready to tear strips off me next. “What the fuck did you say that for?”
I stood my ground. “Because it’s true.” I should have guessed she’d go nuts.
Paul’s name fit snugly in the puzzle, like picking the correct jigsaw piece to complete it.
She shoved the petals up to my face. “News flash. Mark admitted to sending the flowers.”
I chewed my lip. “That camera Jayne used to take photos on your hen night. You told me it was Paul’s. How come you gave his camera to her?”
“It looked like the sort a reporter would use. So what?”
“There’s a scratch on the photo in my purse. A photo taken using that camera on Saturday night, and—”
“And what?”
“And the same scratch is on this one, too. Look. And the photo that was pushed through my letterbox had been trimmed to a square. I bet it was cut to rid of the scratch on the edge.”
“You’re reaching.”
“Am I? So, Paul just... let you borrow the camera?”
She hesitated then shook her head. “He didn’t need to. He bought a new one the other week.”
“Laura. Did Paul let you—“
“All right. All right. I took it out of the bin. Didn’t even think the damn thing would work.”
“Oh, Christ!” I let my head loll into my hands. “He thinks he threw the proof away. He doesn’t know that we can link the scratch on this photo to him. I’m telling you, he’s trying to shift the blame onto Mark. That’s got to be it. Paul must have found out that Mark was Daryl’s psychiatric patient. That links him to Daryl, and could make Mark look unstable. I bet that Paul’s setting Mark up as punishment for lusting after you.”
When I looked up, Laura had pressed her palms over her ears and was screwing her face up. “Stop talking like this, Chelsea. I’m warning you!”
“I’m not finished.” I tugged her hands down. “Paul wasn’t asking for my opinion that day he turned up on my doorstep. The clever son of a bitch. He wanted to ensure I know Mark has the hots for you so I could back up his fake story. Plus, everyone knows Mark’s not my number one fan lately. It kind of makes sense that he’d try to scare me, except he wouldn’t. He’s not like that. Mark’s the perfect fall guy. It’s quite genius.”
Laura banged her fist on the table. “This is total crap.” She pointed to her engagement ring. “Look at this rock. Paul loves me. We’re in love.”
My words just hung there without sinking in.
She turned towards the door. “I’m not listening to any more of this horseshit. Which nuthouse did you escape from?”
I grabbed her hand and battled to turn her round to face me. “Don’t go out there! We need a plan.”
Her lips broke into a wobble. “How can you say all this? How can you stand there and accuse the man I love?”
I leaned in and brought her face within an inch of mine. So close that she looked bug-eyed. Short on time, I ran through the obvious. “Just hear me out. Who would be upset enough about you having an affair, to risk jail?”
“No. No, you’re so wrong, it’s laughable,” she said, but tears were now thick over her eyes. “We’re crazy about each other. We’re going to start a family. Paul’s even got a list of baby names.”
There was no way of breaking the news delicately.
“Who would know how much cash you can get your hands on? Know that I’d show you my emails? Know our schedules each day? Access my house keys? Know that you’d not dare involve the police? Paul probably read all your texts and kept tabs on us all week.” I waited for her reaction, watched the horror build like steam in a pressure-pot.
She didn’t speak.
“He involved me to confuse us.” I squinted at the ceiling. Was I missing something? “Or perhaps he blames me, too? Thinks I covered up your affair, or something.”
Laura’s nose wrinkled. “What? Oh, this is total bollocks, Chelsea, and you know it!”
“Whatever the reason, his plan worked, until we found this bag, too early.”
Laura’s face flushed red. “Paul wouldn’t do this. He just doesn’t have it in him. He loves me. I’m his sweetheart.”
The word ricocheted inside my head. “Did you say ‘sweetheart?’”
“He loves me. That’s what he calls me.”
I took a deep breath. “Well he wrote that in a text I received earlier. Mark would never call anyone sweetheart.” I gripped her shoulders. “Oh, Christ, Laura. You’ve blown Paul’s world apart and he’s out for revenge.”
She shrugged me away. “Bullshit!”
“He knew you’d pay rather than lose him. Maybe Paul intended to do something else with this bag, scatter the evidence around, plant it at Mark’s house. Either way, the stuff inside is to give us someone to blame after he ditches you tomorrow when the truth comes out.”
“Shut the hell up!”
“Even the puzzles in the emails,” I said, and I struggled to stop my voice from shaking. “Mark’s obsessed with puzzles, and Paul knows it.”
“Paul’s hired his suit, invited his friends, got our plane tickets for the honeymoon in his top drawer. He wouldn’t do all that for no reason.”
Poor, deluded Laura. “It’s a cover. He wants to take your inheritance money and leave you stranded, humiliated at the altar. Those are the two best ways to hurt you, aren’t they?”
“Stop this now,” she yelled, pointing at the door. “I’m not speaking to you anymore. Get your bags and get the fuck out of my house.”
“No. You’ll Goddamn stand here and listen.” I yanked her arm. “What would Paul do if he came face to face with someone you’d been having sex with behind his back?”
She scowled.
I tugged her arm again. “Laura! What would he do?”
Grunting, she said, “You know what he’d do. Same as most guys, rip his Goddamn head off. Now let go of me or I’ll do it to you.”
I sna
tched up the photo from the table, thrust it towards Laura’s face, stuck my finger through the slit in Daryl’s head then wiggled it at her. “This is a clean cut, see?” I set the photo on the table and slammed my fist down on it.
Laura flinched.
“Paul stabbed it.”
“And what if he did?”
“And,” I fired back. “It’s his way of saying he did ‘rip’ Daryl’s head off. I bet you everything I own that Paul blackmailed Daryl… then killed him.”
Her eyes flared wide with rage. “Take that back!”
“No.”
Whack! Laura’s knuckles slammed into my cheekbone. My head jolted to the left. I staggered. Water trickled from my right eye. “What the?” I gasped, cupping my hot cheek.
“Oh, Chelsea. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened, I…” She reached out to stroke my face.
I swatted her hand away, clenching my fist ready to strike back. After the week I’d had, it would have been easy to punch her in the nose. It would have felt great. I stopped myself, then couldn’t, and slapped her across the face.
“Hell!” She pressed her palm to her cheek and winced.
“You’re lashing out at the wrong bloody person,” I said, my voice hollow speaking through one side of my mouth. “Just think about it. You’ve probably done the only thing that would make Paul flip. Reminded him of his painful childhood, of his mum’s infidelity. Let’s not forget you’ve got a pre-nup. For God’s sake, Laura, of course he’d go for the money!”
Laura’s gaze dropped quickly. When I saw tears spill over her bottom lashes, I knew the truth was finally soaking in.
“It’s just not possi…” she said, in a thin voice. “He doesn’t act any different.” Her expression flicked like a photo album through anger, shock and then disbelief, until finally, her jaw flopped down. “Oh, God. No!” Tears flowed like a bust damn down her face.
Seeing Laura’s heartbreak threw a second of doubt my way. I didn’t take accusing her fiancé lightly. I remembered Paul’s reaction to the texts from the so-called blackmailer. He acted angry at first, accepted Laura’s explanations easily, then soon forgot about it - just like he did over our fight with Mark in the hall. He couldn’t risk questioning Laura too heavily.
“Was Paul ever near you when you received a text message or a demand, Laura? Do you know for certain that Paul’s even been to work this week?”
Her sobbing grew louder, which I took as a ‘no’.
“I’m so sorry, Laura. But you know I’m right, don’t you?” I saw it in her wet eyes. “Your fiancé is blackmailing you, and he killed Daryl. Lee’s been right all along.”
Laura seemed to struggle to even lift her head now. She did her best to breath, seemed to choke on her heartbreak.
However much I wanted to hug her, there was no time. “Now let’s get ourselves, and the girls, the hell out of here before he realises we’re onto him.”
CHAPTER 32
We gumshoed into the kitchen. I perched on a stool, ready to break the news to the tipsy girls. Unbelievable. A few were still missing from the room. Problem number one. We couldn’t leave anyone behind.
At least Paul wasn’t in sight.
After rummaging through a drawer, Laura waved her car keys in the air and mouthed, ‘Jess must still be in the toilet with Claire. I’ll go get them.’
I nodded my agreement, then placed a finger over my lips and looked at the other girls. “Hush. Listen.”
No one responded. The music drowned my whispers.
I spotted movement.
Paul appeared in the hall.
Oh, crap! I felt angry, scared, and sick, in that order. It made me shake. Calm down and keep yourself together, keep yourself together until he leaves the room, then make a run for it.
Laura started moving. Her dainty steps dotted between Paul’s like a faint echo during an instrumental stretch of music. The different footstep rhythms continued until they came together inside the kitchen doorway.
Why is she walking over to him? Why is she...?
“Do you love me, Paul?” she asked in a delicate voice.
“What made you ask that? Of course, I love you. Very much,” he replied, slipping his arm around her waist, kissing her again. “You’ve been crying? Cold feet?”
I gave Laura the eye, silently saying, ‘Have you lost your freakin’ mind?’
She frowned at me. Oh, shit! Doesn’t she believe Paul’s the blackmailer?
Laura turned her gaze back to Paul. “Just… wedding nerves. Aren’t you nervous about tomorrow?”
Paul smiled and stroked her hair. “I’m excited. It’ll be a day I’ll never, ever forget.”
“And you want to be with me forever?” Laura gazed searchingly into his eyes. “Raise a family, grow old and grey with me?”
“Yes, sweetheart,” he replied.
The word ‘sweetheart’ made me cough.
“So, tomorrow should feel like we’ve both won the lottery and...” Laura paused, mouth open, as though debating whether to continue.
I stiffened, feeling pretty sure she was about to blow it for us before we’d ushered everyone out of the house.
She finished. “Feel like… your number’s up?”
My elbow slipped off the worktop.
Paul’s jaw twitched. “Sure. Exactly,” Paul said, then pulled a crooked face as though pretending the phrase Laura had said was alien to him.
Laura drove her gaze to me. Anger and terror.
She believed me now.
Paul wrapped his arm around Laura’s dainty shoulders and squeezed. My best friend, was in a killer’s grip, and I didn’t know what to do about it.
The front door slammed at the end of the hall. I snapped my head to the left to look.
Mark?
I doubted it was anyone else.
I wanted to jump to my feet and race after Mark, apologise for blackmailing him and beg for his help. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t show Paul that I knew we even needed help.
A potent few seconds passed. I sensed Paul’s eyes burning into me.
“I’ve just got to… do something,” Laura said, her voice coloured with despair. She slipped out from under Paul’s meaty arm and entered the hall.
I blotted my palms on my jeans and waited, hankering for Paul to go back into the lounge so we could barricade him in and have a fighting chance of getting all the girls out. If we ran for it now, he’d grab some of us, and most of our friends were probably too drunk to fight him off.
During the fadeout of a song, Paul’s footsteps scuffed the floor behind me. A mix of bile and warm Champagne began rising up my throat and into my mouth. I had my back to the most terrifying man I’d ever encountered.
“Thanks for the heads up, partner.” Paul’s voice was a sinister tease blowing warm breath into my ear. He pressed something into my back. A finger? And then he dragged it slowly, ever so slowly, up my spine to the dint at the back of my neck.
A shot of coldness raced around my body.
“I got your text. You’ve been busy.” Then he whipped Laura’s knickers from my back jean pocket, dangled them in front of my face.
I stared at them, stiffened then shook.
“Don’t go anywhere.” There was a cold edge to his voice. “I’ll be back for you very soon.”
I squeezed my hand into a fist, twisted and swung.
Paul raced out of the kitchen shouting Laura’s name as he left.
My fist swiped air. I slipped off the stool, and fell on the floor.
He slammed the door behind him, blocking my view of the hall.
“Laura!” I yelled.
“Chelsea?” Megan said. “You okay down there?”
I jumped to my feet. “Get out, everyone. Quick! Paul killed Lee’s brother. He’s a murderer!”
“What?” high-pitched voices answered. “What are you talking about, Chelsea?”
Jayne choked out her drink. “Check your calendar, girl. It ain’t April fool’s day.”
I slapped the worktop. “We’re in real trouble. Get that back door open. Right now.” I bolted to the hall door to go after Laura.
Jayne giggled. “Sure thing, Chelsea. How much champagne have you downed?”
I yanked, but the hall door wouldn’t open. “No. God, no!”
“This is a prank, right?” Emma asked, a chuckle in her tone. “Are you filming us?”
When I spun around, Emma was practically standing on my toes. Her gaze fixed on my face. I traded a stare with her and didn’t even blink. “This is what that email is about. I lied to you. I did get more of them. So did Laura.”
“You’re joking?” she said, staggering and looking drunk.
“You know me, Emma. Do I look like I’m joking? Paul sent them. They’re death threats because Laura had an affair with Lee’s brother.” It pained me to say, “Paul’s gonna kill us all!”
Emma giggled.
I stared harder, eyes narrower.
Her giggling stopped. She stepped closer, clamped my face between her palms and studied my expression. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re actually shaking.”
I nodded.
“Flippin’ heck! Let’s get out of here.” Emma turned on her heels and bolted to the back door. “Shit! It’s locked.”
“Find the key. Look in those drawers,” I said, pointing. “Don’t just stand there, you lot. Move!”
Jayne charged to the back door next to Emma, crashed against it, yanked at the handle and kicked.
“Quietly,” I whispered.
But there was no need now.
An argument erupted behind the hall door as I reached to grip the handle.
“Paul! I can’t believe you’ve done this,” Laura shouted. “You’re a sick maniac. Don’t touch me! Ouch. That hurts.”
Paul’s voice drowned hers out. “You’re a filthy, bed-hopping whore.” Paul’s once friendly groom-to-be persona got stripped further away with every venom-filled word. “Cheating, lying bitch!”
I tried to wrench the door open.