by Amy Casey
It was only noticeable for a second. Just a split second. But there was a mark. I wasn’t sure how I saw it, but I could only guess it was because of those moments of heightened focus I’d managed to invoke. It wasn’t something that was visible to the naked eye. It didn’t have an evidence tag beside it.
It was something I was seeing from another time.
I walked over to it. But the closer I got, the more it seemed to fade.
But when I got to it, I stopped. Because I was getting more and more convinced that this was something. This really was something.
I crouched down. My throat went dry. My heart began to race.
Because I was looking at a footprint.
The footprint of a high heeled boot.
And it was right beside Andy Carter’s fallen body.
And just as quickly as it had appeared… it disappeared.
Gone.
I turned around. Stepped out of the room.
I saw the strange looking gold coin on the floor by the door, but I didn’t think much of it.
Not at the time.
I swallowed a lump in my throat as I got myself out of Graveson Manor.
“Anything?” Steve asked.
I looked at him and shook my head. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
Steve sighed. “That’s okay. I just thought—”
“Night, Steve.”
He opened his mouth like he was preparing to say something. Then he closed it again, nodded. “Night, Stella.”
I walked off down the hill, off into the darkness, off towards the light.
And although I knew I was going back home, I wasn’t going to be sleeping tonight.
But I needed to get all the sleep I could.
Because tomorrow I was meeting with Andy Carter’s wife.
Chapter 9
I was right about not getting a wink of sleep.
But that didn’t matter now. It was irrelevant.
Because I was standing outside Andy Carter’s wife’s house.
It was a bright, warm morning. The kind of morning of cliches where birdsong was the soundtrack, where later in the day, kids would be heard laughing and playing (even if that didn’t really even happen anymore since the inception of the days of the Xbox). But all of this niceness, it all just added up to create an illusion that things were okay when, in fact, they weren’t. Things were the very opposite of okay.
And this was the first step of that journey of discovery.
I walked to Gina Carter’s front door. The grass was immaculate. The flowers looked like they were all in bloom, then I realised they must be artificial because no flowers looked like that during spring. I could smell something like freshly baked bread, and all of it, although sparking an admiration of those home comforts, actually made me feel a little apprehensive, a little uneasy.
Because this was the house of a man who had just been murdered. Why could I smell baked bread?
I cleared my throat as I reached the doorstep. Tried to steady my nerves. I knew what I knew—that there had been a woman in that room where Andy Carter had been murdered. Right by his body. And I didn’t know that meant a woman had killed him of course, the fact of the matter was that I’d seen that imprint of a high heel, and to begin with, that pointed towards his wife. I didn’t even know if she’d been at the wedding. And sure, I should’ve told Steve what I’d found, because I knew it could be crucial to the investigation.
But Steve was a police officer. He’d find his own way through this case.
The discovery of the heel imprint was only through my abilities. So it was incidental to anyone else.
At least I had something of a head start, even if I did eventually divulge what I’d discovered.
Just not yet.
I knocked on the door and waited. I don’t know why I expected Gina Carter to come marching towards the door, but I did. Probably because I expected her to be camped out, waiting for news about her husband.
But instead, a few seconds passed before I saw her walking leisurely down the corridor.
She opened the door and a few things struck me about her.
First, the smile.
It wasn’t an attempted smile. Wasn’t a faked smile. Wasn’t a smile that was covering up a world of pain.
It was a genuinely warm smile.
And then there was the way she was dressed.
She was all made up. Ginger hair curled. Eyelashes immaculate. Bright lipstick on her lips, one of the many different shades she liked to wear. Finest jewellery all in place.
“Hello, Stella dear. You okay?”
My mouth went dry. To be honest, I didn’t know how to answer. I was always a little intimidated by Gina, mostly because she was always such an attractive presence.
But this behaviour… it didn’t add up. Not with what had happened.
So that had thrown me.
“I actually came to ask you if you were okay,” I said. Then I held out a carrier bag filled with macarons and treats from Witchy Delights. “Thought I’d… thought I’d bring you some stuff. Not to cheer you up exactly, but just so you know we’re all looking out for you. That we’ve all got your back.”
Gina snorted. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”
She grabbed the bag from me in another display of uncharacteristic behaviour and started to shut the door.
I don’t know what possessed me to do what I did next, but I found myself doing it regardless.
I put my foot in the door.
“Gina?” I said.
She looked down at my foot. Then back up at me. “You have your foot in my door.”
“I’m worried about you,” I said. “The whole town is worried about you.”
“And I appreciate that,” she said. “But really. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. In fact, I’m better than I’ve ever been.”
She made eye contact with me then, and it made me wonder. The way she’d just spoken, that was implying something. They were wrongly chosen words considering the circumstances, and I knew that Gina knew they were too.
So she sighed and opened the door a little. “I’m sorry,” she said, brushing back her immaculate hair, the smell of perfume wafting towards me, the glow of her lipstick entrancing. “I just… Yes. I’m in a muddle of emotions at the moment.”
I figured I could do worse than pushing my luck. “Your husband’s been murdered. You could be excused for being in more than just a muddle.”
She puffed out her lips, then. “‘My husband.’ I like how that sounds, but let me tell you something, dear. Andy was only a husband to me in name.”
I felt myself getting close to something. Close to the truth? Perhaps.
She sighed, shook her head. As much as I wanted to use my abilities to get inside Gina’s mind, I figured I wouldn’t even have to do that, as on the cusp of honesty as she seemed.
“For too many years, I let him walk all over me. I let him define my emotions. Well, not anymore. I won’t let him have the last laugh.”
She glared at me then. And she must’ve figured out the way I was looking at her, suspecting her.
“Oh, I know how I sound,” she said. “Like I killed the man. But please. I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of having that kind of guilt over me. Andy was a bastard. I loved him, but he was a bastard. And whoever did kill him… well, I won’t shed a tear for him. And I won’t hold it against whoever did this.”
“Were you at the wedding?”
“I was, of course. But I didn’t spend much time with Andy that night. I was speaking with friends for most of the evening. What makes you ask?”
I looked down at the ground. Noticed the heels Gina was wearing. But then lots of women wore heels, didn’t they?
Anyway. I figured it was time to push my luck some more. “There’s… there’s rumours going around that it could’ve been a woman.”
“Probably was a woman, knowing Andy,” Gina said, still totally detached from the emotion of the whole saga—partly dow
n to shock, no doubt. “Probably that dolly bird of his from West Moor Street. I don’t know. I don’t care. The police will catch up with whoever did this eventually. And when they do, their own kind of justice will be served. I just won’t let him drag me down with him.”
I frowned then. The mention of West Moor Street. That wasn’t far from here. And I knew a few people who lived there. “West Moor Street?”
Gina rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you heard? I thought you baristas were all in on the local gossip.”
“I’m not exactly a barista—”
“Chatty Charlie, they call her. Well, she’s the one you might want to have a chat to. Considering I caught Andy talking to her last night, in fact. Nice cosy corner they were in. And they certainly looked like they were enjoying each other’s company.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Charlie Yates?”
“Is that her name? Whatever. The pair of them looked like they were getting on just fine last night. So I reckon it’s about time the police paid her a visit if they really want to get to the bottom of Andy’s death. But hey. I’m hardly in a hurry to report her to them. Like I say. If she dealt with him then… well, I can’t exactly hold it against her.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat as I said farewell to Gina Carter. And as I walked away, down the pathway, out onto the sun-drenched street, I couldn’t help feeling like something was amiss about all of this.
But Gina’s story was as it stood.
There was something going on between Andy Carter and “Chatty Charlie.”
And it was my job to find out.
Well. It wasn’t my job. But you get the idea.
I’m not a quitter.
And I certainly wasn’t going to give up right now.
“Delicious macaroons,” Gina Carter called, crunching down on a bright pink one, her lipstick sticking to the edge of it.
I gritted my teeth and resisted the urge to correct her.
Chapter 10
I had to admit I was pretty surprised to learn about Andy Carter’s supposed relationship—or whatever it was—with Chatty Charlie. To the point that I wasn’t even sure whether to take Gina Carter at her word.
But here I was, outside Chatty Charlie’s block of flats, ready for my next stage of questioning.
The clouds were thickening above, which if this was some kind of cliched story, I might describe as “ominous” or “foreboding”. But it’s not some kind of cliched story, so I’ll give it a rest.
Even though it did feel pretty bloody ominous, not gonna lie.
And… yep. Foreboding. That was definitely there, however it was supposed to feel.
Chatty Charlie’s place was the total opposite of Gina Carter’s nice, welcoming home. She lived in a block of flats just on the edge of Goosridge. Four floors, and that grey-bricked look to it that didn’t exactly scream “homely.”
But hey. I lived in a flat too. A nicer one than this, sure. But home was what you made of it.
If I remembered correctly, Chatty Charlie lived on the third storey. Her parents weren’t happy when she decided to move out. She’d always been something of a sheltered kid when she was younger. But she was in her twenties now, so it was time to go out into the world and find a place of her own.
And she certainly came out of her shell since moving out. I’d heard a lot of rumours about who she was or wasn’t seeing; which wealthy guy she had or hadn’t got herself close to. She was always such a well-behaved girl. But they were often the ones who went wayward.
Oh look at me speaking as if I’m a bloody pensioner. I’m barely much older than Chatty Charlie in the grand scheme of things. Maybe I needed to heed Mary’s advice and start living a little.
I reached the buzzer for the door, resisted those butterflies in my stomach that were threatening to come to the surface and jeopardise things. I’d heard what Gina Carter had said. She had been at the wedding with her husband, but they didn’t have a good marriage. They’d barely spent any time together at all. He was always going off with other women. And for some reason, she was convinced that there was something going on with him and Chatty Charlie.
I pushed the buzzer. I just wanted a… yeah. A chat with Charlie. Very good.
But I wished I’d nipped back to Witchy Delights and got some baked goods to bring down here. They always went a long way towards progressing conversations.
God forbid she referred to “macarons” as “macaroons,” though…
I was also feeling a little lighter magically, so I’d brought along a truth serum I knew I was adept at making. But I’d seen the problems that could bring. And as much as I loved magic, even if I was feeling weak, there was still that reluctance, especially after what Mary had said; after the fear she’d felt.
No. I could do this on my own. I didn’t always have to rely on magic to push me forward.
There was no response at Charlie Yates’ buzzer. So I pressed it again. Still nothing. I stepped back. Looked up at her window.
No movement. The curtains were still closed.
I sighed. Wherever Charlie was, it didn’t look like she was home. I’d have to just come back. Maybe go home, put my feet up and scrutinise what Gina had told me.
But as I started to walk away, I saw something.
There was movement. It was only brief, only a split second thing. In truth, I was lucky to notice it.
But there was no denying it.
Definite movement.
Inside Charlie’s flat.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. Someone was home. Which meant that for whatever reason, she was hiding.
I walked back over to the buzzer. Pressed it again. And again. She was in a flat, so there was no escape. She had to come down here one way or another. And if she didn’t, I’d get in. I’d find a way.
I pressed the buzzer again and this time, someone answered.
“Jesus Christ, do you mind?”
I paused when I heard the voice. Because it wasn’t Charlie’s. It was far from Charlie’s. It was a man’s voice.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” I said. “I must’ve pressed the wrong…”
I looked at the buzzers. Damn. I’d been pressing Charlie’s at first, but it looked like I’d caught someone else’s. Stelling. Damn. Bob Stelling. He was enormous, he was awful, and he had something of a crush on me.
“Yeah, yeah. As long as you bugger off and don’t bother me—”
“Actually, Bob. It’s Stella. Stella from Witchy Delights.”
A pause on the line. What sounded like the crunching of crisps. “Stella?”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling entirely uncomfortable about all of this. “I just… I wondered if I could pop up and say hi? I was just passing by, that’s all.”
The door opened before I could even beg any further.
“Well, sure,” Bob said. “Floor three. You know where it is, hmm?”
“Yes. Thanks, Bob. I’m quite good at counting from one to three.”
“Tea? Coffee?”
“Um… tea, please. And let it brew for quite some time. Until the water is… a deep, dark shade of brown, okay?” I had to do whatever I could to buy some time before Bob got suspicious and wondered where I was.
I could almost hear the confusion over the speaker system. “A dark shade of brown?”
“Make sure you watch over it with a thermometer, too. I like my tea very specific. No warmer than 85 degrees, no cooler either. When it hits 85, you put the milk in. So you’ll need to stand over that tea and wait for that exact moment, okay?”
Again, I sensed more confusion from Bob.
“Is that okay?” I asked.
“Anything for you, Stella. Anything for—”
“Good.”
I walked away from the buzzer and stepped inside the flat block. The first thing that hit me was the smell, like fresh paint—and yet I couldn’t see a lick of it in here. The lobby area was cold and echoey. The lift looked uninviting.
“Yeah,” I said, standing outside
it. “Think I’ll take the stairs.”
I made my way up to the third floor as quickly as I could. And as I emerged on the corridor where Charlie’s flat was, I smirked when I heard Bob’s kettle bubbling away. Couldn’t help smiling at the image of him standing there with a grubby old thermometer, just waiting for the brew to hit that perfect temperature.
I crept past his door and then I reached Charlie’s.
I went to raise my arm. I went to bang. To shout. To beg her to let me inside.
But then I realised I couldn’t because that’d only draw Bob’s attention towards me—and scare Charlie off.
I gritted my teeth as I tried to figure out a solution. As I tried to think of a way I could get inside.
And then I found myself focusing on the handle of that door.
I took some deep breaths in and out. I felt the forces of hard magic creeping towards me. Again, I knew it wasn’t ideal. I knew hard magic shouldn’t be my first resort. I knew how weak using it now made me felt.
But it was all I had. And I was feeling better today. Like I could use some powers. Maybe my block had been lifted. Maybe someone up there realised just what I was dealing with so was suddenly more than happy for me to use my abilities on demand.
I closed my eyes and I pictured Mary hovering there. I pictured the fear I’d felt at the thought of losing her.
I pictured my dad’s mortified, grief-stricken face when he’d learned my mum had passed away, and how unwilling to believe it he was…
And as I pictured them I felt an energy inside me. An energy bigger than me, more powerful than me.
And then I heard the door lock click.
I opened my eyes. I hadn’t even focused on turning that lock.
But something inside me knew that was what I wanted anyway.
Something inside had turned that lock for me.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. Reached for the handle. I had to be quick here; I had to act fast.
As I pushed the door aside, I half-expected Chatty Charlie to be standing there with a knife, ready to kill anyone who stood in her way.
But I saw something different entirely.
Charlie was curled up on the sofa.