I look away so he won’t see the tears spring to my eyes.
“Look at me, Em.”
My stomach tightens as I face him again.
“I can’t take it away. No one can.” His eyes search mine.
I can’t speak, so I just shake my head.
“But I can be here for you whenever it gets too much.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from full-on crying.
“That monster tore your dad away from you, Em. Please don’t let him take anything else.”
I can’t handle much more of this. I swallow down the lump in my throat and lock eyes with him. “Please, Nate. I need you to stop hassling me.”
Hurt flashes in his eyes. “You think I’m hassling you?”
“No.” I shake my head. “That came out wrong. I just want you to forget about the idea of you and me.”
He looks away.
“I’m sorry, Nate.”
“Yeah, well I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry I hassled you. I’ll make sure I leave you alone from now on.”
I hate that he looks so sad. My instinct is to reach out for him, but I don’t want to send mixed signals, so I turn and reach for the door handle instead. I push the door open and step over the threshold.
“Em….”
I hesitate before turning back. His expression has softened and he’s holding his arms out with his palms turned up. “I won’t make things awkward for you, I promise. You’re a valued member of staff and I’d hate to lose you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, before stepping forward and letting the door close behind me.
I finish work at two, and even though I want to know how Mom got on at the police station, I need to clear my head before facing her. I stop off at the beach, peel off my sandals and nestle myself between some rocks in the shade. I take a swig from my bottle of water and pull out my book. At least I’m reading again. Since Dad died, I’ve struggled to get interested in a book, but recently something’s clicked and I can lose myself in a story again.
Chapter 21
I manage to beat Mom home. When she eventually gets back, she looks awful. Her face is pale, her eyes are all puffy and she’s got a croaky voice.
“I can’t believe they think it’s him,” she says, trance-like. “Dom didn’t do it. I know he didn’t.”
Harriet puts an arm around her shoulders and gently steers her to the sofa. “Sit down, Mom.” She takes her keys and purse off her and pops them on the low table, then she brushes past me to the kitchen and pours her a glass of water. I don’t move. I just stand by the kitchen entrance, watching.
Harriet walks back through and places the glass on the table in front of her. “Drink some water, it’ll help your throat.” She sits down and turns so she’s fully-facing Mom.
“Water?” Mom’s face twists as she looks at Harriet. “I think I need something stronger than that.”
“No you don’t,” Harriet says. “You need to keep a clear head right now, Mom.”
I brace myself for Mom to start having a go at Harriet. Instead she pushes her hair back from her face, picks up the glass and takes a long sip.
“So what are the cops saying?” Harriet asks. “Have they got any kind of evidence against Dominic?”
“He … uh … they found some stuff on his laptop … searches they said he’d done before Mike was killed.”
“What kind of searches?”
Her face creases. “They said he’d been searching for a hitman in the UK. It’s totally ridiculous if you ask me. As if you’d just google the term ‘hire a hitman’ and a name and number would flash up with reviews or something….”
“So, that’s it? That’s all they found to incriminate him? Or was there something else?”
Mom fiddles with a button on her salon tunic. “Apparently, they found some papers he had tucked away … maps of the Oakley Hill area.”
My skin prickles. That’s where we lived.
“Anything else?” Harriet asks.
“And they found Mike’s bank details. I don’t know why Dominic would have them. It doesn’t make any sense.”
An involuntary shiver creeps up my spine and catches Mom’s attention. She looks up with narrowed eyes. “I know it looks bad, Emily. But it wasn’t him.”
I don’t say anything. I just look away.
“It wasn’t. I’m sure of it.”
“What about his motive?” Harriet asks, grabbing her attention again. “Did they give you any idea why they think he might have wanted to kill Mike?”
She scratches at her scalp. “They said he found out I wanted to get back with Mike and they think that’s what tipped him over the edge. As if that’s a good enough motive to murder someone.”
Harriet strokes her arm. “Maybe he was more jealous than we thought?”
“No. That’s not it. There’s no way…. I wanted to get back with Mike years ago, not long after we got here. You know that. If Dominic had wanted Mike dead, he’d have done something about it at the time. I tried to tell the cops, but it didn’t seem to make any difference. They either didn’t listen or they didn’t care.”
“I hope he’s not guilty,” Harriet says. “But hopefully now the police will do their job and find out one way or another who is.”
Mom puts her head in her hands. “I don’t know how I’ll cope if he gets sent to prison. We’ll probably lose the house, the salon, all our security….”
Harriet puts her arms around Mom’s shoulders while she cries, but I can’t listen to anymore. I turn and head quietly for the stairs.
I’m not sure how much longer I can stay living here if this is how things are going to play out. If Mom and I are on different sides of the case, Harriet will be stuck in the middle, desperately trying to keep everyone happy. I don’t want to do that to her. And if Dominic does turn out to be guilty, I hope Mom realises the bigger issue is that Dominic killed Dad, not that she might lose her precious house and salon.
Chapter 22
I head out for work early on Monday morning. Lois is off hiking with her dad so I want to make sure the café is prepped and ready to open in time.
No matter what’s going on at home, walking along the beach always manages to lift my spirits. I love seeing Percy, the chocolate Lab, playing in the surf. I love watching the seagulls riding the thermals, and I love the sound of the powerful waves crashing onto the shore. The further away from home I get, the less stressed I feel.
I just wish things weren’t so awkward between Nate and me.
But I’ve only got myself to blame for that….
O’Shea’s Place still manages to work its magic and distract me from some of the negativity. And talking of magic, there’s been a definite shift in the air between Lois and Riley. When they’re at opposite ends of the café he catches her eye, just to smile. But when they’re close, as in when they walk past each other, he doesn’t even look at her. Instead he tangles his fingers with hers for a split second before carrying on with whatever he’s doing.
It makes me smile. I’m happy for them both. At least love is in the air for two people in this place.
Halfway through the morning, I head into the store room to fetch some jars of coffee and find Nate and Riley already in there; it sounds like they’re in the middle of an argument. I try to mind my own business as I pick up the jars, but I can’t help overhearing what they’re saying.
“You can’t keep doing this,” Riley hisses. “It’s not good for business.”
“It’s not hurting anyone,” Nate says calmly.
“It’ll put customers off.”
Now my interest is piqued. I take my time ‘finding’ the coffee flavours I need.
“That’s their problem. This is my café and I’m not going to stop just because it might offend someone.”
“Can’t you just give them take-out and send them on their way.”
“No. Jesus, Riley, a seat at a table with a hot meal and a drink is not a massive sacrifice.” With that h
e walks out of the store room and the door slams behind him.
Riley mutters something under his breath.
“Everything okay?” I ask, hesitantly.
“Yeah, yeah. Just Saint Nate trying to scare the regulars away.”
Ten minutes later, Riley hands me a tray with a tuna melt and a pot of tea on it and I find out exactly what’s going on.
“Can you take this outside to table eleven please. It’s for Nate’s friend.”
“Okay,” I say, wondering who I’m going to find at table eleven.
I walk outside to the patio area, glancing at the ocean just as a surfer gets wiped out by a huge wave. I don’t stop watching that patch of water until I see him bob up to the surface again.
Table eleven is in the far corner. Seated and facing the ocean is a man who looks to be in his sixties, with skin all leathery and weathered from too much time in the sun. He’s alarmingly thin with straggly grey hair and he looks like he could do with a good wash. By his feet is a little white dog I recognise; Oscar from the beach the other day.
When Oscar sees me, he rushes over and jumps up, unbalancing the tray.
“Oscar,” the man scolds, and the little dog dutifully goes back to his feet.
I carefully place the tray in front of him. “Here you go,” I say, taking the cup and saucer off and placing them on the table.
“Thank you,” he says. “I haven’t seen you here before. I’m Ralph, what’s your name?”
“Hey there, Ralph.” I say giving him a smile. “My name’s Emily.”
Ralph looks between the tuna melt and the pot of tea sitting on the tray. “Well this looks great.” He returns my smile, revealing a mixture of chipped, yellow and missing teeth.
I take the tuna melt and a napkin off the tray and place them next to his cup, before nudging some small packets and bottles out of the way to make room for the teapot. On closer inspection, I see they’re toiletries; a little compressed can of deodorant, a tube of toothpaste, a pack of wipes, and right at the back, one of the new toothbrushes from Nate’s bathroom.
Ralph catches me studying them. “Your boss restores my faith in humanity,” he says, looking wistful. “No one else does this for me.” He breaks a corner off the tuna melt and throws it on the floor for Oscar. “Emily, you’re a lucky lady working for a guy like that. He’s one of the best.”
I squeeze my lips into a smile, doing my best to ignore a pang of guilt for judging Nate about the toothbrushes.
After the lunchtime rush, I busy myself serving coffee and cake to some Canadian tourists, and then stop by table five to chat with a group of regulars who call themselves the merry widows. While I’m listening to one of them tell me about a Caribbean cruise she’s booked, Riley walks over and hands me some letters. “Could you take the post up to Nate, Em? Save my poor knee.”
My heart sinks. “Of course.”
I excuse myself from the conversation and head upstairs.
Nate’s in the office, sat behind the PC, totally engrossed in whatever’s displayed on the screen.
“Hey.” He doesn’t even look at me.
I wave the letters in my hand. “Just bringing you the post.” I set them down in front of him and then go to back out of the room, but something about the way he’s glaring at the screen makes me pause.
“Uh … Nate, is everything okay?”
He briefly lifts his eyes to meet mine. “Not really. Come and see what you make of this.”
I pull a face as I walk round to join him on the other side of the desk.
He taps the screen. “I got a tip off we had some bad reviews on TripAdvisor. I’m just checking them out to see what people are saying about us.”
“Oh.”
The TripAdvisor page for O’Shea’s Place is displayed and several headings scream out at me; ‘DO NOT EAT HERE!’ ‘Dirty establishment and horrible food!’ ‘TOO EXPENSIVE!’ ‘Cold and unfriendly servers!’
“Shit,” Nate says under his breath. “It’s worse than I thought.” He opens the top review and reads it out loud.
“I eat out a lot and O’Shea’s Place is easily the worst place I’ve been! It’s tired and dirty and the whole place needs a refurb. The servers are rude and the food is overpriced! I ordered Salad Nicoise and when it was served, the eggs had the constitution of rubbery, reheated eggs and the salad was brown and wilting. To top it off, the coffee was disgusting and served in a large, dirty chipped cup! Avoid. Avoid. Avoid.”
“Shit,” he says again.
“None of it’s true,” I look at Nate. “It’s a total fabrication. We don’t even serve salad Nicoise.”
He doesn’t say anything. His jaw sets tight as he pulls up the review underneath and we read it together in silence.
I had high hopes for O’Shea’s Place – it’s in a great location right next to the ocean. But that’s the only positive thing I can find to say about it! As soon as I stepped inside the place I got a bad feeling - how I wish I’d listened to my inner intuition. The staff were horrible, unwelcoming and lazy. The tables hadn’t been wiped down and the cutlery and plates still had food dried on from the last customers. It was disgusting! When the food arrived, it was obvious it had been reheated. It was dry and had no flavor at all. Take my advice and stay away from this place.
My heart sinks. It’s even more damning than the first one.
He goes to click on another one. “Wait a minute,” I say. “Look.” I tap the screen in several places, just under the headings. “All the reviews on this page were left last Saturday.”
Nate frowns and clicks on the next page. Another screen of one-star reviews displays. All left on the same day. He clicks on the next button to open a third page. At the top are several more one-star reviews from Saturday, but then halfway down a five-star review from three weeks ago breaks the trend. The heading, ‘Great food, fun atmosphere and best coffee for miles,’ makes my heart lift. Nate scans through the remaining twenty-three reviews, and apart from one three-star review (little gem, but they don’t serve alcohol) the rest are all four or five stars.
“It’s obvious then. Someone’s deliberately trying to sabotage O’Shea’s Place.” I turn to face him. “Have you got any idea who it might be?”
He frowns. “I hope it’s not Sasha.”
“Why do you think it could be Sasha?”
He looks up. “Do you remember me telling you I was going to pay her investment back early and she wasn’t happy about it?”
Vaguely. “Do you really think she would stoop that low?”
“I have no idea.” He leans forward, turns off the screen and stands up. “But I intend to find out. I have to get to the bottom of this.”
Riley and I are on edge all afternoon, waiting for Nate to get back from his confrontation with Sasha.
When he enters the cafe, his expression is hard to read.
“Well? How’d it go?” Riley asks.
Nate shrugs. “She says it wasn’t her.”
Riley laughs. “Of course she did. She’s not going to admit to it straightaway, is she?”
Nate flips the counter up and walks through to join us. “I don’t know what to think. She didn’t react how I thought she would.” He moves across to the beast and starts pressing buttons. “I’m not stupid.” He directs his comment to Riley. “I expected her to deny it. But when I turned up, she seemed genuinely pleased to see me. It just felt odd. If she’d left those reviews, she should’ve been ready for a battle. Instead of biting back, she just got really upset.”
“Doesn’t mean she’s not guilty, bro.”
“I told her if it was her, she needs to own up because I intend getting to the bottom of it.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I told her I’d forgive her if she admitted it there and then.”
“What did she say to that?” I ask.
Nate looks at me and shakes his head. “She burst into tears. She said if I thought she was capable of doing that sort of thing, I didn’t know her very well.”
&nb
sp; “So,” Riley says. “She’s either innocent, or she’s a fucking awesome actor.”
Chapter 23
My phone rings early Tuesday morning, pulling me from my sleep. I snap it up from the bedside table. “Hello,” I croak.
“Hi. Is this Emily Everett?”
“Yep. Who’s this?”
“Detective Ramirez. I’ve been liaising with the British police and your bank fraud department. Can I meet you for coffee somewhere? We need to have a little chat.”
I’m already out of bed and heading for the shower.
One hour later I’m sitting on the patio at O’Shea’s Place with Detective Ramirez, who happens to be one of the few men who are shorter than me. He has dark hair with specks of grey and intense brown eyes.
Lois places two coffees in front of us, and a smoked bacon and egg bagel for the detective. Then she offers me a smile of encouragement before retreating.
“Thanks for meeting up with me at short notice, Miss Everett.” DI Ramirez says, taking a huge bite of his bagel and dribbling yolk down his chin. “I needed to see you to get a few things straight.”
“No problem. Fire away.”
He picks up his napkin and dabs at his chin. “So, you’re aware we have Dominic Wright in custody….”
I nod. “Do you think he’s guilty?”
He takes another bite and while I wait for him to finish his mouthful, I study his face for clues.
“There’s not enough to get a conviction yet. We have a motive and circumstantial evidence, but we’re still exploring a few leads and checking our facts. I’m not in a position to tell you anymore right now. The reason I wanted to meet up with you today was to speak about your bank account, actually.”
“Oh?”
He brushes his hands together and then picks up his cup, taking a slurp of coffee. “I’ve been liaising with a Mr Peterson from your bank’s fraud department. After a request from the British police, his team have been monitoring your bank account.”
The Cold Hard Truth: A Gripping Novel About Secrets and Lies Page 14