by M. D. Archer
“Just from a theoretical point of view. It’s a classic. How would you kill someone and get away with it?”
Sophie nodded slowly. “And you’d set up an amnesiac event and plead that you couldn’t remember?”
“Actually, no. The more I think about it, no. It’s not really my style, is it? I’d just do it in a really careful, clever way.” Paige’s eyes were bright as they darted from side to side, clearly already formulating a plan.
“This is a really weird conversation, Paige.”
“Fine.” She flipped the whiteboard over to the side with the question of How written along the top. It was still blank. “I don’t want to wipe this off, but we’ve got Hannah’s stalker case, and we might have another one...the woman with no memory.” Paige turned excited eyes to Sophie. “Do we need—?”
“We are not getting a second whiteboard.”
Paige’s shoulders dropped. “Fine. Shall we talk about Cecilia’s case, or the next stakeout for Hannah?”
“Hnnh,” Sophie muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Hannah said she can probably find some money to pay us for another stakeout. She wants evidence. It’s a good thing. We can take Josh down.” Paige turned back to the board. “But you know what? We should be focussing on our proper client. The one who has agreed to pay us our full rate.”
“Agreed,” Sophie said.
Paige swung the whiteboard over. “Back to the stolen manuscript. We need to talk to Gillian and Martin as well as Tammy and Geoff. I’ll try calling again soon. One of them has to be available to talk to us today.”
MARTIN ANSWERED THE door after Paige’s third knock.
“Geez,” Paige said. “Take your time, why don’t you?”
Sophie took in his bleary eyes and his mussed hair and surmised that Martin had, until very recently, been asleep.
“Where is Cecilia?” Paige asked unceremoniously.
“Away. Press junket thing for the short story book they released.”
Paige rolled her eyes and blew out an exasperated air. “People keep taking off on these holidays without telling us. She was supposed to give us access to the room and to her hard drive again.”
Martin raised helpless shoulders. “Can’t help you there, sorry. She has her laptop with her and her office is locked.”
“We need to ask you some questions, anyway.” Paige stepped around Martin and walked through the hall into the living room. Martin, looking bewildered, turned to follow her in.
They took seats on the couch and while Martin didn’t offer them tea or coffee, Sophie didn’t think it was a hostile gesture, it just hadn’t occurred to him.
Paige looked pointedly at Sophie, which Sophie knew to be a cue for her to pay attention because Paige was about to ask a question for which she wanted ‘lie-detecting’ activity. Sophie had tried to tell Paige a number of times that it wasn’t quite that simple, but her track record was good enough that Paige had come to expect it.
“Do you have a key to Cecilia’s writing room?” Paige asked.
Martin shook his head. “I do not. I never go in there. I leave her to it.”
Paige’s eyes flicked to Sophie.
“Are there any other keys that you know of?” Sophie asked.
“No. Just the one around her neck. She takes it very seriously.”
“So it wasn’t you?” Paige said. “You didn’t steal her manuscript?”
Martin frowned. “Of course not. Why would I? And I would never do something like that to her.” He blinked rapidly and folded his arms.
“December 10th,” Paige said. “Do you remember anything unusual happening during the afternoon or the evening? You weren’t aware of anyone going upstairs?”
Martin shook his head. “Hard to recall, but no. I think I would have remembered if I’d seen that because I would have asked what they were doing.”
“Think hard,” Paige said.
The room fell silent until a harsh ringing sound erupted into the void. Martin looked behind him to the kitchen. Each peal seemed to get louder and more grating. Finally, Paige made an irritated noise. “Aren’t you going to get that?”
“The only person who calls on that line, apart from Sally occasionally, is Cecilia’s mother, so no, I won’t be getting that.”
Just as the landline stopped, the doorbell rang. Martin frowned. “Excuse me.” Paige and Sophie waited in the living room and listened as the door opened and Martin greeted someone.
A moment later Gillian entered the room. “Oh hello. I saw you at the party, didn’t I?” She addressed this to Sophie, as people often did, even though Paige was the one she’d had an almost ten-minute conversation with.
“Yes,” Paige said. “I’m Paige, remember? She’s Sophie. We’re here because, uh...”
They hadn’t discussed whether they should continue the ruse of being Cecilia’s office neighbours, or to admit the real reason.
“I left my sunglasses somewhere,” Paige said finally. “We were nearby, and I thought I might have left them here.”
“Cuppa?” Martin said to Gillian, only now seeming to remember his hosting responsibilities.
“Lovely,” Gillian replied.
Martin went to move toward the kitchen but turned back to raise his eyebrows at Paige and Sophie. “Anything for either of you?”
They both shook their heads.
“Back in a sec.”
“So, Gillian,” Sophie said. “What do you do for a living, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Not at all. I’m a graphic designer.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Do you work from home?”
“I do. It’s lovely. And when I get lonely, I can pop over here for a cuppa. Like now.”
“You’re here all the time, then?” Paige said.
Suddenly Gillian looked uncertain. “Well, not all the time. Just now and then.” Her cheeks coloured. “I don’t make a nuisance of myself.”
“Of course you don’t,” Martin said, returning to the living room. The kettle could be heard boiling away in the kitchen.
“Martin was telling us how you popped over for a Christmas drink, joining Cecilia, her editor, and a colleague. So nice to be friendly with your neighbours.”
“Absolutely. I just love those kinds of impromptu get-togethers.”
“Did anything weird happen?” Paige said.
“Pardon?” Gillian said.
“They’re asking because one of Cecilia’s manuscripts has gone missing,” Martin said, handing Gillian a cup of tea and setting his own down on the table.
Gillian’s frown cleared. “Of course. You’re her office neighbours. You’re the investigations agency next door. It makes sense now.” She leaned forward. “Isn’t it fascinating! I’m a big Agatha Christie fan, you know. I love the Golden Age. And it sounds as if you’ve got a classic locked room mystery on your hands!”
“I know, isn’t it great!” Paige said, bobbing her head eagerly.
“And in answer to your question, no, I didn’t see anything weird.”
“Can you think of anyone in Cecilia’s life who might want to do this to her?” Sophie asked, directing the question at both Martin and Gillian. They exchanged looks.
“I don’t think so, except, you probably know about her feud with Peyton,” Martin said.
“Feud?”
“Well, that’s perhaps too strong a word. Their acrimonious relationship.”
“Anything specific you want to share?”
“Well there was that time Peyton keyed Cecilia’s car after she said something unkind about him in an interview.”
“Maybe feud is the right word,” Sophie said.
“Perhaps. But it doesn’t stem from one particular incident. They’ve just always been like that. They just don’t get on.” Martin shrugged.
“And what about the writing group,” Paige asked. “Does Cecilia have a problem with anyone in that group?”
Martin looked over at Gill
ian as if conferring with her, then shook his head. “She’s never said so, has she Gil?”
“Not that I can recall. She loves that group and I gather the feeling is mutual. In fact, the day we had that Christmas drink she’d just had them over and she was talking about how much they all loved her.”
“But just because Cecilia is of that impression it doesn’t mean they actually do,” Paige said.
“Well, I suppose not, but... Martin, you’re often around during her writing group, aren’t you?”
Martin nodded. “Yes. Everyone seems to enjoy themselves. I would be surprised if there was any animosity at all.”
“So, none of them strike you as capable of stealing her manuscript?” Sophie asked.
“We don’t know them very well, do we Martin,” Gillian said. “I mean... I’ve barely met them, and I doubt Martin has spoken to them that much.” Her cheeks coloured again.
Sophie eyed her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, thanks.”
“If you think of anything else,” Paige handed over a card, “just give us a call.”
“Will do.”
As Paige and Sophie walked down the path to the car, Paige said, “Martin told her we’re investigating the theft. What do you make of that?’
“Not sure,” Sophie replied. “But he’s got a kind of distracted way about him, so I think maybe he just didn’t realise he wasn’t supposed to let that slip.” Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know how we’re going to interview people properly without explaining. It’s going to seem weird.”
“Yeah. Maybe we drop the act and just ask.”
“And we’re going to need to talk to Martin and Gillian again.”
Paige whirled around. “You picked up on something?”
“Yes. They’re both demonstrating evasive behaviours and I know what part of it’s about, but I want to make sure there’s nothing else to it.”
“What—”
“I’ll explain properly later.”
They drove back to Symonds Street and Sophie pulled into a park at Galbraith’s—they’d agreed it was about time for some triple-cooked fries and a glass of wine. She turned off the ignition and looked over at Paige who was frowning. “What is it?”
“I’ve just realised something.” Paige scrolled through her phone until she got to a number and then waited for her call to be answered.
“Who are you calling,” Sophie asked.
“Cecilia.”
“Why?”
“Yes?” Cecilia answered the phone.
“It’s Paige of S & S Investigations, here.”
“I’m in the middle of something.”
“Just—”
“I’m back in a couple of days. You can catch me up when I return.”
“One question,” Paige persisted. “Have you talked to your neighbour Gillian about the situation with your manuscript?”
“No.”
“You’re sure you haven’t mentioned it? About how it was essentially taken from your office, which you keep locked all the time?”
“Positive. I don’t think I’ve said a word to her since it happened. I was even thinking to myself, after the party, that I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her properly for a while.”
“Right.” Paige disconnected.
“People usually say goodbye when they hang up, Paige. Especially when they are talking to clients,” Sophie said.
“How did she know?” Paige said.
“What?”
“She said we had a locked room mystery on our hands. How did she know?”
13
A cacophonous medley erupted from the kitchen, concluded by a very thorough-sounding smash.
Sophie, applying mascara in her bedroom mirror, paused. What was Victoria doing? She’d made an incredible racket coming home an hour ago, gone straight into her bedroom with ear-shattering slam of the door, and now this. With another crash, Sophie rolled her eyes and went out to investigate. Along the way she collected Myra in her wake, obviously also curious about the noise.
Victoria stood in the kitchen, her shoulders rising and falling with laboured breathing. On the floor was evidence of not one but two broken wine glasses and a shattered plate.
“It’s therapeutic to smash things,” Victoria said. “I read an article.”
“But you’re breaking my wine glasses,” Sophie said, lurching forward to assess the damage. “Inside the house. Look at this mess.”
Victoria narrowed her eyes, seemed to be about to say something, then blew out an angry gust. “They’re not yours.”
“They were a Christmas present.” Sophie looked from the shards of glass to Victoria. “What’s going on?”
She scowled. “Everything is ruined.”
Myra stepped out from behind Sophie. “Are you okay?” she asked bravely.
“No. What do you care. What do you want?” Victoria hissed.
“I just—”
“God, you’re so annoying,” Victoria said, throwing her hands up.
Myra’s eyes widened. “P-Pardon?”
“Hey, Myra didn’t do anything,” Sophie said.
“Ugh! I can’t stand you. It’s relentless,” Victoria fumed, whirling around to turn on Sophie. “You’re even worse. All this is your fault anyway.”
“What are you—”
“Leave me alone.” Victoria stalked out of the kitchen.
Sophie turned to Myra whose lower lip was trembling.
“What did I do?”
“She’s just in a mood, I think,” Sophie tried to assure her. “You know her.” She attempted a weak smile, but Myra’s eyes were already filling with tears.
“Hey, what are you doing tonight?” Sophie said brightly. She couldn’t leave poor Myra alone in the house with Victoria when she was being this awful. “Do you want to come to a barbeque at Paige’s house?”
Myra looked up and nodded quickly. “Yes, please.”
“Okay, we’ll go in about an hour, okay?”
Myra’s eyes dropped down the length of Sophie, taking in what she was wearing, then she scuttled down the hall to her room. Sophie watched her go, praying she wouldn’t choose an outfit exactly the same as her own—a printed summer maxi dress with pencil straps, and denim jacket.
Sophie retrieved the dustpan and brush from the cupboard and cleaned up the glass. Moments after she’d finished, there was a knock at the door. When Sophie opened it, there stood Hannah.
“Oh. Hi.”
Hannah’s face and hair were expertly done—her hair an artfully messy topknot with her heavy eyelashes somehow complementing her glowing, fresh-looking skin and nude-coloured lipstick—and she was wearing Activewear. The whole thing totally worked as a lewk. And even though Hannah was wearing Lycra, Sophie felt underdressed.
Hannah held up a bottle of white wine. “Can I come in? I want to talk.”
“Um.”
Sophie had over an hour before Paige would even begin to consider her ‘late’. And if Sophie was honest with herself, she wanted to hear what Hannah had to say. She needed to figure out whether Hannah was someone she should, or could, welcome into her life.
“I’m heading out to a friend’s place, but I’ve got a bit of time, I guess,” she said, holding the door open wider for Hannah.
Hannah stepped inside, eyeing the interior with interest. Sophie gave her a brief tour, pointing out her bedroom but not actually inviting her to see inside properly—that felt like too much—and after a cursory glance at the kitchen, toilet and backyard, they settled in the living room with a glass of wine from the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc Hannah had brought with her.
“Josh was a mistake. I—” Hannah’s face twisted. Sophie frowned, trying to understand what that expression meant. She was hard to read, Sophie thought. Was that because of their similarities in appearance, or because they were related? Or was it simply that Hannah was an excellent liar?
“I didn’t know what he was like,” she continued. “He seemed nice. He came up to me at a bar, an
d of course now that I know about you, it makes sense,” she said with a rueful smile. “But now that we both know what a dick he is, I say let’s forget him. Let’s move on. A fresh start. I was a bit, I don’t know, aggro when I first met you, but maybe we can start again?”
Sophie nodded.
“It was a lot to deal with, finding out about you.” Hannah gave her a small smile. “But I guess you must understand.”
“Yeah, I do.” Sophie gave her a tentative smile, pleased that Hannah was finally acknowledging they had gone through similar things, their father hopping between their two families. And that Hannah hadn’t been wronged by Sophie.
They fell silent, both sipping their wine. Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Myra’s head peer around the door to the living room. Her mouth made a surprised O shape, and then retreated again.
“Great job with Trixie, by the way. She was so pleased with the way you cut and coloured her hair.”
“I know, right? I’ve done a beautician course, but I need to find a way into the scene. I think I’m good at it.”
“I think you are too.”
“I mean, it’s not as impressive as what you do. All that psychology stuff.”
“People are good at different things. One isn’t inherently better than the other, necessarily.”
Hannah made the screwed-up-nose face again. Sophie decided that Hannah did it when she was a little uncomfortable or didn’t quite know what to say.
“Here’s to getting rid of Josh,” Hannah said, leaning forward to clink her glass against Sophie’s. “What about you? How’s the love life?”
“Oh,” Sophie rolled her eyes.
“Ooh. Sounds like there’s some goss. Tell me.”
And so, without really meaning to, Sophie told Hannah all about Roman. And as they chatted and finished the bottle of wine, Sophie felt at ease, happy even, chatting about her love life with her sister. But once Hannah had gone, disappearing as suddenly as she had arrived and leaving Sophie standing in the hallway alone, she suddenly felt hollow, almost uneasy. As if she’d make a mistake along the way, but she didn’t know where or what it was.
PAIGE LEANED OVER THE talcum-powder scented bundle and pretended to take a proper look. “Um, yeah, she’s uh, cute.”