“I hope they’re not small servings,” Yvonne said, gasped and clutching at her neckline, where a silver drip pendant laid around her neck. “Diane promised.”
“I came on the promise of bottomless champagne,” Ruth chimed in.
Charlie brushed by my ankle as he settled on the floor at my feet. He seemed unphased by the loud noise of people around him or the lighting. I had a small bowl of water placed near a leg of the table, hopefully somewhere I wouldn’t accidentally kick. Charlie had already been fed before we came over, but knowing the menu, I knew I could hand feed him from my plate.
Static feedback echoed from the microphone on stage, followed by a deafening screech. All eyes were on Diane as she waved. The band cut their music.
The orange lights cut to purple as the light on stage turned white.
She wore a white gown, and the lights did her justice, sparkles and shimmers glistened, shedding their reflections out across the room. Perhaps this was a fancy party after all. Her gown had a small train running behind it and was beaded in shining silver jewels.
“Everyone,” she said, tapping her knuckle and a ring against the microphone. “Take your seats, they’re serving food,” she said. “You’ll have plenty of time to network once we’ve all eaten.”
I turned in my seat to see who she aimed her comments at.
I didn’t need to ask, it was obvious, there was a man stood at the end of the hall near the exit and entrance of the kitchen staff doors, holding two glasses of champagne in his hands.
“Finley,” Diane said, tapping the mic once again. “That means you too, dear.”
A gorgeous woman, half his age wrapped an arm around his elbow. Guiding him through the tables. She must’ve been his hired help for the evening. That much the entire ballroom knew.
The jazz band played once again.
Diane placed the microphone on the stand and stepped off the stage to her seat.
The lights changed again.
I continued watching Diane as she squeezed her husband’s shoulder and dipped her head to his, whispering something in his ear.
I knew as much as she’d told me; nobody wanted Finley Carson at the event, but he was an investor—or something, and it seemed rude not to invite him.
My starter for the three-course meal before the real party began were chicken satay skewers. Everyone knew these events weren’t for the meals, they were for networking and bonding which came after the fact.
And I’d been told, by a little birdie about some people who would be working with me at the newspaper I was starting on Monday. It had been a few weeks since I accepted the offer, and since then, I was still writing articles for the magazine, my final pieces were in the upcoming edition, marked for the 40th-anniversary edition.
‘The Investigator’ was a national newspaper, with a much larger readership across the nation than the travel magazine. It wasn’t the fame I wanted, but I knew some people craved; it was because my interests had changed and I wanted to write for something I could do good through.
After writing about the murder, death, and uncovering secrets, I knew this is what I wanted to do, this is what got my heart pumping and the excitement inside me drilling. It’s why I wanted to join the newspaper, and not for more money; that was the bonus. I figured this was the natural progression in my profession.
Once the food was eaten, and the drinks were flowing, it would be a matter of time before I would meet my new bosses and work colleagues, and it thrilled me; I was nervous and apprehensive; I was going from the big fish in a small pond, to the open sea as a small flounder.
“How’re you feeling?” Ruth asked.
“Uh?” I mumbled, glancing around the table and back to Ruth as she wiped her lips on a napkin.
“You’ve not touched your starter yet, they’ll be coming around with mains soon.”
Everyone had finished, and it hadn’t even registered my food had arrived. Perhaps I was more nervous than my brain was telling me.
The servers were all young men, dressed in white shirts and black bowties. I raised a hand to one as he passed me.
“How can I help?” he asked, almost immediately.
“Can I—” I nodded to the champagne glass on the table.
Ruth nodded to hers too.
“Second guessing yourself,” Yvonne chuckled.
“You know, you don’t have to leave,” Howard added.
“Well, we’re going to be two down now,” Yvonne continued, sighing into her champagne glass before chugging it.
“I mean, gives us more work,” Howard laughed, clinking glasses with his wife.
“I’ll bring a new bottle,” the waiter said.
I tucked into the chicken satay, although it wasn’t anything I savoured, the food portions were small, as suspected, and they were gone within two bites.
I held my hand high once again. The same waiter arrived with a green bottle on his arm, wrapped in a white cloth, collecting the condensation moisture. He also wore matching cloth white gloves.
After filling my glass, he filled the others.
Crash.
Duh-duh.
The jazz band came to a halt, this time pulling attention to the waiter who’d tripped and fallen, the bottle smashed into pieces on the hardwood ballroom flooring.
“Stupid!” a voice roared, drawing more eyes in its direction.
Finley. The waiter had smashed the glass inches from Finley’s table.
He jumped from his seat as the waiter flitted to his feet nervously.
“What’s he getting angry about?” Ruth grumbled. “Boy didn’t even hit him.”
“It would’ve given him a reason to leave early,” Earl laughed.
.
TWO
My main course was a lamb chop on mashed potatoes with vegetables, and then dessert followed soon after, crème brûlée. I hadn’t wanted anything too heavy when I placed my order during the week, but after cleaning my plates, I knew I needed seconds, my stomach wasn’t full, and the champagne bubbles weren’t helping.
“Don’t look now, but—” Yvonne began.
I watched as Earl’s eyes widened at something approaching from behind. I turned, in time to see a redhead in an equally burnt red dress. Making a beeline in our direction, the first time I’d seen a huge smile splashed across the face.
Suzanne Jenkins.
“Heard the big news?” she said, brushing her hair back as if she had a fiery lion’s mane.
“News?” I asked, looking away to the rest of the table.
“I’m going to be working for The Investigator as well.” Her continued smiling had me worried, it was the longest I’d seen her smile without it turning into a scowl. “So, we’re going to be working together.”
“What?” I muttered, my eyes blinking rapidly as I looked to Ruth, the only other person I knew to be confused by the information.
“We thought you knew,” Yvonne said, glancing to Howard, the two of which had seemed to be in the know, probably from Yvonne’s husband, Earl.
I pushed out from beneath the table, disturbing Charlie. He perked, standing and shaking, most likely in an attempt to shake the bow tie around his collar.
“When did you—”
“Last week,” she said.
I grabbed my shawl from the back of the chair and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Diane didn’t tell me,” I said, my brows knit together. Although she didn’t owe me the knowledge, it was certainly something she should’ve told me, given how much we’d been talking.
I locked eyes with Diane from her table, she picked her chin and looked over, squinting in my direction. Her gaze moving to Suzanne before a noticeable clench appeared in her jawline.
“I’m going to ask.” I headed straight to her.
“Eve,” Patrick said, pulling out from the table, intervening my approach to his wife, Diane. “How are you enjoying your evening?”
I turned and noticed, Suzanne smirking behind me.
“I figu
red, me leaving would give Suzanne some room to grow in the company,” I said, my teeth tapping together. I pressed my tongue behind my teeth. “But now she’s coming to the same newspaper with me?”
Diane chuckled, sweeping back a hand through her hair. “It wasn’t my decision,” she said.
Patrick waved a hand at me. “Suzanne applied directly to me, and she had some pretty good pieces in her portfolio,” he said. “I didn’t know about her work for the magazine, well, until I told Diane.”
“And I told you to take her,” she chuckled, grabbing the champagne flute. “So, let’s cheers to that.”
Patrick grabbed a glass and clinked it with his wife. He raised his brows at me. “Don’t worry, the newspaper is quite large with different areas and departments, so I doubt you’ll be bumping into her much.”
“Or at all,” Diane said behind the glug of champagne. “In fact, I thought you wanted the job because it gives you more space and freedom to investigate outside. You know, independent investigation hours and all that.”
Patrick hummed and nodded. “I don’t go into the newspaper offices often, but those I do, people go in on Mondays, get their assignments, and then they can come and go as they wish to use the resources.”
Suzanne joined us. “The newspaper feels like a much better fit as well,” she said. “Definitely able to put my talents to better use.”
I clocked Diane as she rolled her eyes, readily not entertaining Suzanne, unlike Suzanne who was busy entertaining herself with what she thought she was worth.
“Well, thank you for telling me,” I said, nodding before I moved from their table, joining Ruth as she held Charlie in her arms.
“He was going to run after you,” she said.
“Wouldn’t want that now, would we?” I said, stroking a hand at Charlie’s snout. “You’re gonna have to promise me you’re not going to run off tonight. This place is too big to go searching for you.”
There were a few people I was avoiding, Suzanne, mainly, I didn’t want her faux bonding over the shared experiences we’d had at the magazine, and the future we had at the newspaper, although I had two large scale pieces under my belt already, from the two reports I’d made. Others to avoid were anyone my husband had any business dealings with, it wasn’t in my interests to have my ears talked off about what a great businessman he was, or how he had helped them in one way or another.
Ruth and I walked around with champagne in our hands. I’d placed my purse in front of Charlie at the table, letting him sit on the chair like a guard dog on patrol, watching over our belongings.
The jazz band paused, pulling attention to the front.
Diane tapped the microphone for what seemed like the seventh time in the evening. The feedback ran through the audio stereos around the room. “Attention, attention,” she said. “I want to make a speech.”
People shuffled around.
“No, no,” she said. “Stay standing, or seated, it’s not going to be long, but you might want to get yourself some champagne. It’s a toast.”
Wait staff walked around with their silver trays in hand. They gave champagne flutes filled with crystal yellow liquid.
I accepted a glass, although I’d had plenty, and wasn’t attempting to fall out of my heels.
“Thank you, everyone,” Diane said.
Another tap came to the microphone as Patrick made everyone aware of him on the stage by his wife. “And a thank you from me as well.”
“As many of you know, I started working at this company before marrying Patrick, and it’s been an absolute whirlwind,” Diane said. “Our fortieth edition of the magazine has meant we’ve been through a lot of writers, and a lot of people in that time, and this month, we’ll be losing two of our writers, fortunately for Hastings Powell Publishing, they’re staying within the family.”
“And I know my wife is too humble to mention it, but we’re also here to celebrate her birthday. She turns—” Patrick’s microphone was yanked from his hand.
She cleared her throat into her “That’s between me and my doctor,” she said, speaking into both microphones at once. “But I’m sure what my lovely husband was about to say, is how I am the light of his life, and how our marriage has no bearing on my position here at the magazine.”
Patrick took the microphone back. “Well, let’s bring those two writers out, the two leaving and starting their new jobs and new journeys in the coming weeks. Evelyn Green and Suzanne Jenkins.”
Applause broke out.
Ruth pressed a hand to my back. “Go on.”
Monday 23th August 2007
I’d had a lot of coffee to drink, and Harry had bought me a new violet chiffon scarf to wear with my blouse. It was a warm day and upon opening the doors to the office building of a converted barn; the place of my new job—and it was going to be for twelve years.
My first day, I was set to meet Diane. I clutched my handbag close to my chest, and my foot was in the constant throws of tapping away on the ground by the waiting room.
“Evelyn,” her first words to me. She smiled and nodded. “Nice to have an older lady join the team.”
The first thing I noticed about Diane was the bright red lipstick she wore, and the comment she’d made about me, albeit she’d been much older, and I was sure the only reason she’d taken a chance on me is because of the age.
I’d done many things during my life, and I’d had many jobs too. I’d been to university for journalism and I’d worked for a couple gossip magazines while I was younger, doing the agony aunt style columns, it had been something I needed to break free from, and for Diane to have given me the chance to write for the magazine, I was happy.
And now, for the new opportunity she’d given me to work for the newspaper, a job doing investigative work, a job I’m sure I’d dreamed of as a young woman at university, writing hard-hitting articles and exposé essays.
The first piece I’d written for Diane at the magazine was about the red roses and Doreen Maidstone. It was a connection I had with her through Harry. She was where it all started.
* * *
A scream pulled me out of my thoughts. “Help!”
Everyone turned away from Diane and Patrick.
Charlie raced to me and yapped by my feet.
We were in the middle of the ballroom and the scream came from the back of the hall.
“Someone help!”
Charlie’s small body jumped over my feet and onto the source of the screaming.
THREE
A stampede of footsteps chased after the choir of cries. They headed straight for the back of the ballroom. My eyes were scrambled in all directions, attempting to fix on the source as I searched through the sea of heads.
“It’s Angela,” a voice called out.
Angela?
The marketing worker who’d recently broken her leg, what else could have happened to her. There weren’t any stairs around for her to fall down.
Gasps came, and the whispers grew. Ruth’s head turned quick on her neck, listening to half words from people. In an attempt to find Charlie, who probably placed himself at the centre of it, I waded forward.
“There’s a body,” a voice said.
“A dead body,” another.
“He’s dead.”
“—dead—dead—dead—”
Ruth and I glanced to each other. “Who’s dead?” we asked together.
Neither of us knew, but tonight was about to get a little rougher if there was a dead body at the event.
We continued forward into the eye of all the action. Shocked gasping continued; the overall shrill call of what was happening. The call for police intervention, an ambulance, anyone who could help.
“Is there a doctor?” someone asked, it was quiet, but they continued in their repeating, louder in our approach.
Jeannie, the young receptionist for the magazine, headed straight to me, her head shaking as she shuffled through the people.
“Eve,” she cried out, clutchin
g at her neck. “Someone’s dead in the disabled toilets.”
“Who?” Ruth asked. “Do you know who it is?”
Her quaked breath hitched as she sniffled onto the back of her hand. “I can’t—I—I—”
“Did you see?” I asked, stroking a hand against her upper arm.
“Blood in his mouth,” she said. “I think—I think. I don’t know, I think—I think it was blood,” she said. “And—and—and Charlie, he’s all the way up there, comforting poor Angela.”
“Angela found him?” I asked.
“No, no, Charlie went to her.”
“I meant the body.”
Jeannie nodded once again, tears rolling down her cheeks. Picking her head to make eye contact, she looked behind me.
Diane waved a hand to her—or us.
“You should go see her,” I said, gently squeezing at her arm. “There’s napkins around so you don’t get any makeup on that beautiful dress.”
She sniffled. “Thank you.”
Jeannie walked off behind us, towards Diane and Patrick, the only remainders at their table. Everyone else had fled their seats in order to take a peek at what had caused such a scream. It wasn’t unusual, at least not in a room filled with people in the publishing industry.
“Who is it?” Ruth said, looking around.
“I don’t even see anyone missing.”
There were too many people for me to know all of them, even if I had consulted with Diane on the seating chart before the event.
Through the crowd of people, Charlie came running back to me.
This was his way of telling me he found something; it wasn’t a dead bird in the woods, or a small injured animal bleeding out. This was a body, another body. The third body in just as many months.
“Get here,” I said, careful to dip in my dress. I grabbed Charlie from beneath his stomach and pulled him into my arms. “Don’t you dare run off.” My eyes examining every part of him, at least I wasn’t cleaning blood from his snout or fur this time.
“The police have been called,” I heard announced.
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