“Like what? Jesus, Zach, this isn’t about you.”
“I never said it was.”
“Fuck’s sake, don’t you care?”
“Of course, I fucking care. She was my sister too. And it’s horrible what’s happened.”
“Well, then.”
“Transport’s a problem. I’m not exactly on the doorstep.”
“I can take and drop you back. It wouldn’t need to be for long.” I was pleading with him.
“I have to be here.” He tilted his chin in the direction of the nearest hedge, bullish, as if he had urgent business on the other side of the privet.
“For what exactly?”
“Don’t you get it? They won’t want me around. Especially now.” His hands flew to his head, like he’d been caught in an explosion and was trying to protect himself.
I knew my brother and he was hiding something, all right. And Zach’s initial question, about what Scarlet had done, had given them both away. A victim in a tragic accident, Scarlet was dead. Nothing could change that fact. But my brother and sister had shared a secret. And I had to find out what it was.
Chapter 6
“When did you last see Scarlet?” We sat in the shade with homemade lemonade. The citrus tang hit the back of my throat like a blade.
Zach scratched his belly. “Last year, maybe.”
“That long ago?”
“Christmas,” he said emphatically.
“Not around her birthday?” Four months previously.
Zach tweaked his moustache, shook his head, dreads swinging. “She was going to come over at Easter but there was a change to her rota.”
“Speak to her much on the phone?” I sounded like a Grand Inquisitor, but Zach had always been an impressive liar – rather came with the drug-ridden territory. Directness reduced his wriggle room.
“Now and then. Seemed okay.”
“She didn’t mention a disagreement?” I tried to sound casual. The root cause of my row with Scarlet was not about money, although to an outsider it might look that way, but about favouritism and the way she, according to me, sucked up to our parents. If Scarlet had confided in Zach, he’d probably pass it off as a scrap between sisters. Cash, or the lack of it, had never featured heavily in Zach’s life, because he was so adept at sponging off others.
Zach’s brow furrowed. “Who with?”
“Doesn’t matter. According to Dad, there’s going to be an inquest,” I said, not so skilfully deflecting.
Zach nodded thoughtfully. “How is he?”
I hiked an eyebrow. “Apart from being devastated?”
Colour spread across Zach’s high cheekbones, shame and anger in his expression, most of it aimed at me. “I meant in general. No matter,” he said. Waspish.
“He’s doing his best to look after Mum.” I kept my voice soft and conciliatory.
“God, yeah, how is she?”
“Taking it very hard.”
Zach nodded, met my eye. Unlike me, he said it how it was. “Scarlet was always her favourite.”
“Which is why it’s important we rally round. It’s what Scarlet would have wanted.”
His answer to my lousy suggestion was to take a gulp of lemonade and top up his glass. “What happens next?”
“Post-mortem.”
Zach visibly shivered, the hairs on his arms standing proud. There was an irony that Scarlet had danced with death every day in her professional life as a nurse, and would probably be matter of fact about lying on a slab and being pored over by a stranger, but the thought completely did me in.
“Dad wants to visit the scene to lay flowers,” I said.
Zach gave a silent respectful nod. I could see that me trying to draw him out wasn’t going to cut through or penetrate his lassitude.
“Zach, what did you mean earlier when you asked me what Scarlet had done?”
He let out a laugh, dry and arid. “Jesus, Molly, you’re like a dog with a bone.”
“Well, it was a peculiar—”
“Nothing. I meant nothing.”
Odds on, from my set expression, Zach recognised my bullshit detector had flicked on. I might not have a degree, but I had an honorary in truth finding. I was like my dad in this regard.
We fell silent. I couldn’t take any of it in. Not Scarlet. Not the surreal conversation I was having with my big brother.
Zach drummed his fingers on the table, searching around for something to say. When he spoke next, he was quick to change the subject and asked about business. He had as much interest in my shop as he had in earning a living. I read it as his cue for establishing that my time with him was up and gave a bland reply. Zach reciprocated with one of his own.
“Saw Chancer last week.”
Chancer or Tristram Chancellor was Zach’s oldest friend. They’d been at school together. Unlike the rest of Zach’s mates, Chancer had stayed in touch, I suspected to keep a benevolent eye on my brother to ensure that he stayed on the straight and narrow. Weird really because Chancer was the opposite of my brother in every respect: successful, moneyed and happily married. The thought made me curdle inside. Long ago, I’d been smart enough to recognise that Chancer was way out of my league.
“He and Edie are having problems,” Zach continued.
As surprised as I was, I couldn’t give a damn. Exasperated, frustrated, I wished I could grab my brother and shake a normal emotional response out of him.
“Think the marriage is on the rocks, to be honest,” Zach said. “Needy Edie certainly seems to think so.”
“Don’t be horrible.” Edie was Chancer’s wife. She wasn’t simply in Chancer’s league; she sat astride it. The daughter of a wealthy investment banker, she came from a stocks and shares, Ascot, Wimbo and a jet-setting lifestyle. “What about the kids?”
Zach pulled a face and shrugged. I drained my glass and stood up.
Zach stood too. I read everything in his expression: Off the hook. She’s going. Thank Christ.
I could have asked him to reconsider his decision, to change his mind and come back with me right now, this minute, but knew it would only make us both angry. I had to face it. Even an event as momentous and monstrous as the sudden death of our sister was not going to drag Zach home, or turn him into the prodigal son.
He slung an arm around my shoulder, clumsily drew me close and kissed the top of my head and walked me to the van. “Give my love to Mum and Dad.”
I gave it one last shot. “Think about coming home, Zach.”
He looked down, scuffed the dry ground with a bare heel, kicking up dust. Not a chance in hell, I thought, climbing into the Transit and bumping back along the drive.
Chapter 7
Dispirited, I turned onto the main road and, after a few miles, pulled over into a lay-by from where I called Nate. My brother-in-law and me had always got on.
“Nate, I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing you can say. I can’t believe it. I mean what the fuck? Straight road. Glorious day.” There was a long pause. “Jesus,” he said with a hollow laugh that battered the metal walls of the van, “me an atheist and I actually prayed and pleaded for her to pull through.”
“I’m so terribly sorry.”
He didn’t speak for a moment. When he did his voice was all twisted up. “But Molly, how are you doing?”
To be fair, I didn’t have the words to adequately and accurately answer his question. Most of me was in denial. I mumbled clichés about expecting this kind of thing to happen to other people. “Is there anything I can do for you, Nate, anything at all?”
“Be good to see you.”
“What about your parents? I don’t want to tread on anyone’s toes.”
“They’ll go home. Mum, well, you know, her intentions are good, but what with the police updating me every five seconds, I need time to think and process and—” Nate broke off. At first, I thought he was crying, then realised that something was up. “Actually, I really need to talk. In confidence.�
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“How about I drive over after I’ve finished up here? About sixish?”
“That would be good. I’ll see you then.”
I strained every sinew to focus on the road. What did Nate want to tell me in confidence? Was he going to reveal how upset Scarlet had seemed a few days ago? Was he going to ask me why? A fresh wave of shame flamed my cheeks.
I reached Lenny a little over an hour later. Single-handedly, she’d shifted all the furniture from upstairs. Stacked. Packed. Ready to roll. Red-faced and done in, she stood with her back to the wall.
As I slid down from the van, she walked towards me, solemn faced, with open arms. “Your dad phoned. I’m so sorry, hon.”
Solid, dependable, anarchic Lenny enveloped me in a sweaty embrace. A tight dry sob I’d bottled for hours escaped from the back of my throat.
I clung on, loss excavating a hole through my heart. I’d never dealt with this kind of news before. Scarlet gone. Scarlet dead. A moment longer and I’d start bawling and never stop. To head it off, I said, all business, “Could you run me home, then bring the van back to load up and take it to Flotsam?” This was my shop in Malvern Link. “I’ll pay you extra, of course.”
“No way,” she said, as we clambered into the van. “And don’t worry about the shop this week. I can handle it.”
A day ago, it would be unthinkable for me to consider relinquishing control. Now it didn’t matter.
I stared out of the window, remembering me and my big sister at my first pop concert; both of us poring over wedding dresses; a pub lunch when I’d shaken the ketchup and the top hadn’t been screwed on properly and sauce flew all over Mum and we’d cackled with laughter until we were nearly sick. Happy days. Light days. Would I ever feel that carefree again? As stuffy and hot as the day was, I suddenly felt as cold as winter. Lost, I could make no sense of anything.
We pulled up outside my house. “Any particular jobs that need to be done this week?” Lenny said.
I shrugged my shoulders. I still had Mr Noble to contact, I vaguely remembered. He’d have to wait. I had one concern only and it wasn’t to clear my conscience. I needed to understand what the hell happened on that road this morning.
Chapter 8
Glad to reach home, I escaped inside and closed the door on a world that I no longer recognised. Ugly. Dysfunctional. Desolate.
A wave of hunger grabbed my stomach and I realised I hadn’t eaten all day. Not really fussed, I browned a thick slice of bread in the toaster, smothered it with peanut butter and ate standing up, mindlessly viewing my accrued possessions. A sucker for old things, the interior was really an extension of the contents of the shop. Most people didn’t have a vaulting horse planted in their living room.
All set, my mobile rang from a number I didn’t recognise. Normally, I’d reject calls like this, but these were strange times and I answered it.
“Molly Napier?”
“Yes?”
“Rocco Noble.”
Rocco? The only other Rocco I’d heard of was Madonna and Guy Ritchie’s son. Noble, oh yeah, the client I should have phoned. Scrabbling, I said, “I owe you a huge apology. I should have got back sooner, but I’ve been overtaken by events.” I winced, mortified. What would Scarlet think if she knew I’d referred to her death as an ‘event’?
“All good, I hope,” he said cheerily. He had a nice voice, rich and low. I pegged him about my age, maybe a bit older.
“Actually, not. My sister was killed in a road accident this morning.” I cringed. How could I be so indiscreet and reveal something this personal to a stranger, in a business call, no less?
Judging by the stunned silence that followed, Mr Noble appeared to agree.
“Hello, you still there?” I said.
The unmistakable click that signals a caller hanging up asserted otherwise.
I stared long and hard at the screen. Screw you, I thought, weirdo.
“Your mother won’t come out of the bedroom.” Dad sat in the conservatory, hopeless and lonely. “How did Zach take it?”
“Upset. I’d hoped he’d come home but—” My voice died away.
“Zach is Zach. He’ll be here when he’s ready.” He stared blindly out of the window at the garden.
“Have you talked to the police?”
“I’ve put calls through to Roger Stanton, the SIO in charge.” Senior Investigating Officer. “Nothing yet. I phoned the garage where Scarlet rented the four-by-four and put them in the picture.”
“How did they take the news?”
“Someone’s death normally trumps business interests.”
“Of course.” I cleared my voice. “Will you be all right, only I thought I’d swing by Nate’s.” I couldn’t mislead my father, although I mentioned nothing about confidences. Didn’t breathe a word about my bad vibe concerning Zach either. Dad had more than enough to deal with.
“Tell Nate we plan to leave here about ten tomorrow.”
To lay flowers, I remembered, the prospect unnerving. “I’ll be there.”
“And if there is anything I can do for him,” he said, trailing off.
“I’ll let him know.” I kissed my dad’s cool cheek and turned to leave.
“Molly?”
“Yes?”
He tore his gaze away from the garden and looked up at me with solemn eyes. “Any news from Nate, about what happened, I’d be grateful to hear.”
I read disbelief and unease in his expression. While denial was entirely natural – I shared it too – Dad’s instinct, sixth sense, whatever you wanted to call it, mirrored my own. A tragic accident it might have been, but there had to be more to why Scarlet came off that road. If I were wrong, I’d be the first to gladly embrace it.
I pushed a smile. My father had no idea how committed I was.
Scarlet lived – had lived – off the trendy Bath Road in Leckhampton. The road was more congested than usual and the side streets chock full of cars. A tricky place for parking, I found a spot outside an electrician’s from where I walked around the corner.
As soon as I pushed open the gate, the front door cracked open. For a second, I imagined Scarlet standing there with a big warm smile and my heart caught in my rib cage.
“Hello, Nate.”
A million miles away from the mousse and moisturiser guy I knew, he stood on the threshold like a man who’d emerged from a war zone. His hair was lank, jaw dark. Against prison pallor, deep shadows loitered underneath his hangdog eyes. He looked as if he needed a blood transfusion. He wore an old T-shirt over three-quarter length shorts. Both had seen better days. He grabbed hold of me, and we squeezed the life out of each other. Eventually, he pulled away. “Drink?” From the smell on his breath, I guessed he’d already started and was probably halfway through a bottle of neat spirit. Couldn’t blame him.
“A small one. I’m driving, remember.”
For a second, he blanched as though I’d made a joke in appalling taste, and then seemed to pull himself together.
I followed him down the short hall to the heart of the house, a stylish kitchen diner and family room with WOW factor; Nate’s and dad’s first project. Helplessly, my eyes zeroed in on the white and grey noticeboard that Scarlet told me had cost a small fortune. A mini home office, it paraded invitations, reminders and recipes, most of it written in my sister’s organised handwriting. A sudden surge of tears threatened to catch me unawares. I bit down, choked it off.
“Wine or beer?” Nate said.
“Beer, please.”
Pulling up a bar stool, all cream and Italian leather, I sat down at the counter while Nate fixed my drink and topped up his own glass with whisky.
“What’s this?” I picked up a navy-blue folder with ‘Brake’ written on the front.
“A support pack. Someone dropped it off. As if that’s going to help.” Nate’s tone was bitter.
I nodded sympathetically, glanced around the room which, usually so tidy, was a mess. My expression must have given me away because he
said, “I’ve been searching for the bracelet I gave Scarlet for Christmas.” Three carat diamonds set in gold; it had cost a small fortune. My sister had been knocked out when she discovered the price tag on-line. It had cost the thick end of four grand. As much as she loved it, she thought it too lavish, which was typical of her. Why the hell Nate was hunting for it at this precise moment beat me. For sentimental reasons, or something else? Except I couldn’t think what the ‘something else’ was.
“Turned the whole house upside down,” Nate complained.
I tried to mute any reaction to what seemed a strange obsession, given the circumstances. “Maybe she was wearing it.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not at work.”
“Want me to take a look?”
He hitched his shoulders in a ‘knock yourself out’ gesture.
I left Nate nursing his drink and stepped out into the narrow hall and up the tight staircase to the main bedroom. It felt weird walking around Scarlet’s home when she was no longer there in person, and there were reminders of her existence everywhere.
Nate had already searched Scarlet’s jewellery box, judging by the lid flipped open, but I dived in anyway. The contents consisted of earrings, a couple of dress rings and a charm bracelet Mum had given her when she was twenty-one. Much luck had it brought her, I thought stonily, as I turned my attention to the drawer beside her bed that disclosed nothing of importance. A rummage through the wardrobe yielded a similar result. The only marvel was how neat and tidy everything looked. Not a shoe out of place. Best clothes contained in those fancy covers you pick up from the dry cleaners. Everything reflected my sister’s ordered and tidy mind. If anyone was accident proof, she was. Or so I’d stupidly believed.
Back out on the short landing, I hung over the banister and called out to Nate.
“Did you check the spare bedroom?”
“Found nothing.”
“Mind if take a look?”
“No, go ahead.”
Small and sparsely furnished, a double bed consumed one wall. A lonely chair crouched in the corner. With no room for a wardrobe, a built-in cupboard provided storage. Inside, winter sweaters and boots and six handbags. I tore open each, turfed them upside down, unzipped the pockets and ran my fingers inside. Ostensibly, I was looking for a bracelet. In reality, I was searching for clues that would explain why the most sorted woman I knew had taken her eyes off the road and crashed in the sunshine and wound up dead. In truth, I also sought absolution.
Her Sister's Secret Page 3