Osian glanced over at Dannel, who shifted uneasily on the couch beside him. He caught the slight gesture of his hand, a sign he wanted him to say something. “We’re sorry for your loss, mate. It can’t be easy to be dealing with all of this.”
But did your boyfriend murder your mum?
Or did you?
Nope, I definitely can’t fling questions like that at him.
“I keep seeing those bloody scissors.” Archie tossed his burrito haphazardly onto the plate. He covered his mouth, then darted out of the living room toward the nearest bathroom.
“You’re cleaning up after him.” Dannel grimaced.
“Brilliant.” Osian lounged against him, resting his head on Dannel’s shoulder while they waited for his return. Archie trudged back in several minutes later. “You all right?”
“You have to help me clear my name,” Archie pleaded.
Osian twisted his head to smother a groan against Dannel’s shoulder. Haider’s going to murder us himself if he catches us investigating. “We’ll do our best.”
Four
Dannel
Two days after Archie had pleaded for their help, Dannel found himself stressing over what to wear to a funeral. Osian had gone to help their friend with the details. Evie had come over to help.
In truth, today wasn’t the funeral. Ian had thrown together a memorial of sorts. It was being held in an old church.
Evie Smith lived a floor up from their flat. His uncle, who owned and rented out the homes, had cut her quite a deal. It helped that her family came from the same neighbourhood in Jamaica as his dad and uncle; they considered themselves to practically be cousins.
Evie had become his closest friend when they’d gone through firefighting training together. She was only somewhat successful helping with his clothing dilemma, draped across the edge of his bed and mocking his clothing choices. “Listen, I adore you, but you’re making a mountain out of this. Wear a black T-shirt and jeans. You’ll be fine.”
“Evie.”
She peered over the top of her green cat-eye glasses at him. “Dan.”
He collapsed onto the pile of clothes on the floor. “People get weird around funerals.”
“Nothing brings out the worst in people like funerals and weddings.” Evie got to her feet and stepped over him toward the wardrobe. She pulled out one of his nicer polo shirts and a dark grey pair of trousers. “Here. Not jeans but comfortable nonetheless.”
“See. You can be helpful.” Dannel rolled his eyes when she dropped the clothes over his head. He yanked the fabric away. “What time are we leaving?”
“As soon as you quit having a crisis about what you’re wearing.” She dug through his closet to find a non-trainer pair of shoes. “Besides, the longer you take, the more people will have shown up.”
“Not comforting.”
“Yes, but it’ll be easier to mingle and observe potential suspects.” Evie gestured towards the door of the en-suite. “Your clothes won’t magically change.”
“Endlessly disappointed I can’t go into my inventory and simply select a new set of gear.” Dannel thought so many things in life would be easier if they worked the same as video games. “Can you imagine if we could change the colour on our outfits like in Dragon Age?”
“You just want a cheese wheel backpack.”
“Have you seen the one I’m fabricating for a client?” Dannel had taken on a commission for a leather chest piece and a cheese wheel shield. One of their friends intended to cosplay as Alistair from the first Dragon Age game. “Osian’s been helping me with airbrushing. You’ve no idea how hard it is to get a massive thing of cheddar the perfect shade.”
“And now I want cheese.”
“You know where the fridge is. Help yourself while I get dressed.” Dannel ushered her out of the bedroom. He flopped back on the bed to catch his breath. “I can do this.”
With Evie raiding the fridge for cheese, Dannel made himself get ready for the memorial service. He wasn’t looking forward to the day. Crowds. Loads of people. Overly emotional. None of those things appealed to him.
Making sure to pocket his earbuds, Dannel steeled himself for the coming ordeal. He’d seen grief as a firefighter. It was never easy for him to process or deal with others who were mourning.
They made the short walk from their building down the street, up another until they reached the small church. Dannel wasn’t surprised to see the large number of people gathered both inside and out. Birdie Dennis had been a popular part of the West End theatre, working behind the scenes on so many shows.
“Did you see….” Evie trailed off in shock, gesturing not so subtly towards one of her favourite actresses. “I feel faint.”
“Why?” Dannel decided he didn’t want an explanation and pressed on inside to try to find Osian. He spotted his boyfriend chatting with Wayne. “Evie’s hyperventilating over one of the guests.”
“I should check in with my new client. You two stay out of trouble. Please?” Wayne patted them both on the shoulders. “I don’t need to try to keep you out of jail again.”
“See the woman in the massive hat?” Osian leaned into Dannel, keeping his voice low. “No, don’t look.”
“You literally told me to. How can I manage to see her without looking?” Dannel grumbled. “Knobhead.”
“Git.”
“Will you two quit swearing? We’re in a church.” Olivia swooped by with a bundle of flowers in her arms. “Honestly. Who raised you?”
“Your mum.” Osian dodged away from his sister. “What? She’s my mother too.”
Olivia Garey-Rees was Osian’s baby sister by a mere three years. A teacher who’d married one of Dannel’s firefighter friends, Drystan Rees, a cheerful Welshman, Olivia tended to behave more like the older sibling.
Maybe it came from her years of teaching, although Olivia had always looked after her older brother. Osian found it highly entertaining. He usually watched with a proud gaze as she bulldozed her way through any difficulties and whipped people into behaving.
For his part, Dannel adored her. He’d dealt with his own insufferable younger brother, Roland, growing up. Olivia had been an angel by comparison.
“What are you two arguing about anyway?” She shifted closer to them to move out of the way. Her attention went to Dannel. “Got your earbuds?”
Dannel patted his pocket. “Of course.”
“The woman in the massive hat.” Osian nodded across the room. “I spotted her at the theatre the other day. She attempted to sneak inside. Badly. Almost cartoonish in her inept ability at stealth.”
“Are you investigating again?” Olivia folded her arms and frowned at them.
“Never.”
“Of course we are,” Dannel answered at the same time. He never saw the point of lying unnecessarily. Olivia always managed to see through them anyway. “Archie asked.”
Olivia shook her head at them and then shoved the flowers into her brother’s arms. “Well, you won’t solve anything by hovering at the edge of the crowd. Take the bouquet up to the table. You can accidentally-on-purpose run into the hat woman and introduce yourself. Mistake her for some famed ingénue of the West End.”
Osian watched his sister vanish into the throng. He grinned over the bouquet at Dannel. “I swear she came out of the womb organised and in charge.”
“Yes, but her ideas are usually better than ours.” Dannel could write multiple pages worth of their terrible plans over the years. “Remember when—”
“No.” Osian cut him off, shaking the bouquet in his face. “We don’t need to alphabetically list all of our many bad ideas over the years.”
“Your.”
“Our,” he insisted. He leaned forward to brush his lips against Dannel’s. “Come on. Let’s see if we can charm the hat woman into spilling her secrets.”
With his arm looped through Osian’s, Dannel kept his gaze focused anywhere but on people’s faces. He nodded absently whenever someone greeted them in pas
sing. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Ian’s voice.
What’s he up to now?
“Get out.”
Dannel froze at the abrupt shout that had disrupted the relative quiet of murmured conversations happening around them. “Did you hear Archie?”
“Let’s hurry.” Osian dragged him forward to where they found Archie confronting the young woman in the overly decorated hat.
“Get out.” Archie’s face had gone bright red; his eyes were filled with tears while he towered over her. “Did you come to steal something else?”
“I beg your pardon. Just as rude as your mother,” she snapped.
“Get the bloody hell out! You thieving….” Archie struggled to maintain his composure.
As the drama unfolded in front of them, Ian slipped in between Osian and Dannel. He’d dressed impeccably for the occasion, a black and white silk scarf draped delicately across his neck.
“Ian.”
“Darling.” He drew them away from the argument. “Why don’t we let someone else deal with the poor dears?”
“Who’s the bint in the hat?” Dannel figured Ian had to know.
“Ah. Yes.” Ian adjusted his scarf. “Philippa Lewis. Costume designer who worked under dear Birdie. She practically apprenticed the child. They had a falling out a month ago, which eventually led to her being let go this past week.”
“Is this when I get to go ‘dun, dun, dun’?” Osian winked at Dannel who sighed. “You can’t tell me the plot didn’t thicken on us.”
Dannel chose to ignore the silliness of Osian. It was a defence mechanism, helping him deal with the stress of a funeral. He knew this would be a painful reminder of Gemma’s death. “I’m more interested in why Archie accused her of thieving. What did she steal?”
“Unsubstantiated rumours.” Ian waved a hand dismissively. “I do wonder how young Archie learned about it. Birdie was never one to speak badly of someone unless absolutely necessary.”
“Now you can say it.” Dannel nudged his boyfriend.
“Dun, dun, dun.”
“I also heard young Archie had a little tiff with his amour outside the church. His lover stormed off. I couldn’t have written a more dramatic start to our memorial for Birdie.” Ian took them both by the arm. “Why don’t I introduce you both to some of the cast? They’re all here for our beloved designer.”
“We can—” Osian protested, only for Ian to cut him off.
“How can you possibly discover the dastardly murderer without meeting everyone while they’re either in mourning or pretending to be so?” Ian carried them toward the first group of whispering theatre enthusiasts. “You’ll do fine.”
Fine might have been a stretch. Dannel was ready to leave. He’d lost track of names and faces; they all blended in together.
“Let’s go home.” Osian grabbed Dannel by the edge of his sleeve, tugging him in the direction of the side exit. They snuck through a narrow hallway toward the door leading out into the alley behind the church. “Shh.”
“I didn’t say anything.” Dannel frowned at the back of Osian’s head.
“Shh.” Osian pressed closer to the open door. “Archie’s out here.”
“Okay?”
“With his boyfriend.”
“Okay?” Dannel wanted to go home. He didn’t want to see anyone, particularly Archie and Niall. “They’re not snogging, are they?”
“Arguing. Damn. They went around the corner.” Osian stood up straight and pulled the door open the rest of the way. “I could’ve sworn Archie said something about his mum.”
“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions about who might’ve murdered Birdie Dennis.”
“True. We’ve got the police for that.” Osian still held a grudge over being almost arrested for murdering one of his closest friends. “Well, maybe not Haider.”
Five
Osian
“Cold pizza. Coffee shakes from Shake Shack. Thick, fluffy blankets. The Hamilton cast album.” Osian ticked off the items on his “help Dannel relax” list. “Lights as dim as I can make them. Phones on vibrate. And a note on the door telling people not to knock unless the building is on fire.”
“Ossie.” Dannel always protested when Osian went out of his way to help on bad days. “We’re supposed to be finishing up the podcast.”
“We can’t waste all the effort I went to in order for us to be lazy all afternoon.” Osian flopped onto the sofa beside Dannel. He stretched his arm out to grab his shake. “The podcast can wait. Would you rather play the new Uncharted?”
“Pressing buttons takes more effort than I can muster.” Dannel selected one of the leftover slices of pizza. “Perfect temperature.”
For most people, warmth offered comfort. Osian knew Dannel tended to crave cold food, pizza and shakes specifically, after a meltdown or any stressful event. Fast food and musicals weren’t the worst coping mechanism in the world.
They ignored the footsteps and voices on the stairs. They were almost through the first act when a note slid under the door. Osian trudged over to retrieve it.
He held the paper up to show Dannel. “Adelle and Stanley bought slices of raspberry coconut loaf cake from Phoebe’s.”
Phoebe’s Patisserie had opened up in an empty space near the park down the street from their building. Osian tried not to think about how much of her loaf cake they’d consumed in the past week. Adelle and Stanley regularly brought back treats after walking their dog; he wondered if they considered the two younger men to be their surrogate kids.
Osian cracked the door open, staring down to find a brown paper bag on the floor. “Thank you, kind cake faeries.”
“Enjoy your evening, boys,” Adelle called up to him.
“Cake.” Osian locked the door behind him and carried the cake over to the sofa. “Now?”
“Coffee and cake do go nicely.” Dannel lifted up his shake. “What do you think about Philippa Lewis?”
“Trying to be far more mysterious than she actually is.” Osian had a feeling there was more to her firing. “Archie’s reaction to her was interesting. It’s a pity the theatre doesn’t have CCTV cameras inside the building. I’d love to know if they had any sort of confrontation after she snuck inside.”
The other pity was that the police wouldn’t be able to determine who’d gone into the room. Archie had been found at the scene, but a video would’ve proven when. Then again, Osian had first-hand knowledge of how being found with a murder victim didn’t necessarily prove guilt or innocence.
“Right.” Dannel sat up, reaching over to turn down the music. He grabbed the last slice of cake and shoved it into his mouth before Osian could get the bag. “Why don’t we make a list of our suspects? Archie has to be on there.”
“Though, isn’t he expecting us to prove his innocence?” Osian scraped off the last smear of raspberry from the bag. “Archie, Niall—the new boyfriend—and the hat lady.”
“What about the ghost?”
“This isn’t a horror movie.”
Dannel whacked him over the head with a cushion. “No, you pillock, whoever is behind the ghost. What if the murder was an escalation for whatever their grand scheme actually happened to be? You don’t go to the effort of haunting a theatre production for the fun of it.”
Archie, Niall, Philippa, and a ghost.
Did Sherlock Holmes have to deal with this sort of nonsense? Then again, we’re more Scooby and Shaggy than Holmes and Watson. At least they had snacks.
Snacks are good.
“Ossie?”
Osian glanced up to find Dannel flicking him on the leg. “Sorry, thinking.”
“About?”
“What if we had Wayne and Roland throw a dinner party for our cosplay group? We can claim it’s a welcome home for Archie, who will bring his boyfriend.” Osian wanted a chance to watch the new couple in a controlled but friendly environment. “You never know what we might discover.”
“Ossie.” Dannel didn’t seem convinced. “Music and games?
”
“I’m sure everyone will be thrilled to play West End trivia or any other kind of drinking game we can come up with.” Osian stretched his arm out to reach for his phone. “I’ll text Roly Poly.”
“Don’t call him that to his face.” Dannel stared mournfully at the empty paper sack. “Did we finish the cake?”
“Yes, you did, in fact, finish the last of the cake.” Osian grunted when Dannel shoved him off the sofa to the floor. “Oi. How is this my fault? You ate the last slice.”
After sending a text to Wayne and Roland, Osian pulled himself back up onto the sofa. He grabbed his laptop. They needed to get their thoughts organised, and he had to finish editing the next podcast episode.
Dannel twisted around to lean his back against the side of the sofa. He draped his legs across Osian’s lap, who rested the laptop on top of them. “What do we know about Niall and Philippa? Our two strangers. Well, to us, at least.”
“Not a damned thing.” Osian decided to see what the internet said about Philippa Lewis. “Check this out.”
Dannel bent forward to get a glimpse of the screen. “Impressive website. What’s she selling?”
“Her costuming abilities.” Osian frowned at one of the outfits. “The only problem I see is that I know Birdie designed and created at least three of these. They were part of the workshop we did last year, remember?”
“I don’t remember Ms Lewis.”
“No.” Osian wondered if Archie’s mum had known her assistant was claiming her designs as her own. Or had Birdie stolen the work from Philippa? “Archie’s not going to like some of the questions I have for him. Damn it. Why can’t murderers just admit to their crimes immediately?”
“Said every detective inspector everywhere.” Dannel shifted on the sofa to get more comfortable. “Do a Google search for ghosts in the west end.”
“There are a million posts. We might want to be more specific.”
Ghost Light Killer Page 3