by Agatha Frost
“Agnes!” Ryan cried, rushing at the shape. “What do you think you’re doing!”
Claire crammed on her glasses. The black blob was nine-year-old Amelia in a set of dark pyjamas, and she wasn’t flying up the stairs, Agnes was dragging her.
“The child is feral!” Agnes cried as she tightened her grip under Amelia’s arms and hauled her up the stairs like she was a misbehaving cat on its way to a bath. “I’ve been trying to get her to go to bed for over two hours, and I’ve had enough!”
Jeanie rushed into the hallway clutching her cheek, tears running down her face. Rather than wrapping herself around her father as Ryan freed her, Amelia immediately turned and lashed out at Agnes. Ryan pulled his daughter down the stairs as she kicked and screamed, his grip on her less forceful.
“Amelia!” Ryan’s usually meek voice boomed with bass as he captured his daughter’s flailing arms by her sides. “Calm down. What’s going on?”
“She hit Jeanie!” Amelia's cheeks were wet with as many tears as Jeanie’s as she tried to break free from her father. “She hit her!”
A red handprint bloomed beneath Jeanie’s fingers. In the distance, more thunder rumbled, letting them know the storm wasn’t done with them yet.
“The child should have been in bed!” Agnes cried from the top step, hands planted on her hips. Her white, frilly nightie made her slightly less imposing. “How have you been raising this child? She has no respect for anyone!”
“That’s no reason to physically drag her up the stairs,” Claire said.
Agnes glared at her, but Claire only lifted her chin and refused to look away. She’d had her own run-ins with Agnes. The B&B owner had been at the head of a vocal minority who couldn’t bear the thought of Jane’s Tearoom becoming a candle shop. Since Claire had played a significant role in solving Jane’s murder, she’d assumed they’d called a truce; Agnes’ snarling lip disabused her of that belief.
“I’m going to bed,” Agnes said, turning with a shake of her head. “I want you three out by morning.”
“Morning?” Ryan scoffed, opening his arms before Amelia wrapped herself around his neck. “I’m not staying here another night.”
Agnes disappeared into the dark without turning back.
“Please, Ryan,” Jeanie said, forcing a laugh as she wiped away her tears. “It needn’t come to this. Why don’t we sit down over a nice cup of tea and sort this out?”
Ryan held Amelia out at arm’s length and rubbed at her cheeks with his thumbs.
“Does it hurt anywhere?” he asked her, to which she shook her head. “What were you doing out of bed?”
“They were arguing.”
“This is so silly!” Jeanie cried. “Agnes will have calmed down by morning, and we can all get back to—”
“I’m sorry, Jeanie,” Ryan said, hoisting Amelia onto his hip as if she were still a toddler. “You’ve been good to us, but we’ve clearly overstayed our welcome. There’s a chain hotel not too far away. I’ll be back in the morning to settle my bill.”
“You’re staying with me,” Claire insisted as she followed him up the stairs. “My parents’ guest bedroom has more than enough space. Mum’s been looking for an excuse to show it off since she redecorated.”
Ryan settled Amelia in the twin room she shared with Hugo. Hugo stirred a little, his game console shining brightly on his pillow next to his head. Ryan picked it up and turned it off before pulling the covers up to his chin and kissing him softly on the forehead. He tried to get Amelia back into bed, but she was already dragging her suitcase out from underneath. He helped her lift it onto the mattress, kissed her on the top of the head, and they left her to empty the chest of drawers. Claire liked seeing this side of Ryan.
“She’s not a bad kid,” he said as they walked down the dark hall towards Ryan’s bedroom. “Her entire life has been uprooted, and she doesn’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know how to deal with it. She misses her mum, any kid would, but how can I possibly explain that I can’t just get her here.”
“Still no contact?”
“Nothing.” He unlocked his door and pushed it open into the dark. “I’ve called everyone I can think of back in Spain. Maya’s dropped off the face of the planet since she ran off with him.”
In Ryan’s tone, Claire heard a similar inflexion to the one she heard in her own voice whenever she talked about Pat. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that everyone had monsters in the closet they were avoiding. Ryan’s happened to be Will, the man his wife ran off with to start a new life minus her family. Speaking the man’s name would have been difficult in any circumstances, but Ryan’s were worse. Will had been Ryan’s only close friend even after all his years in Spain. Ryan rarely mentioned either of them.
“The honeymoon period will wear off eventually,” Claire said, following him into the dark room. “She’ll come to her senses and realise what she’s given up.”
“I hope so, for their sake.”
Aside from the few shirts hanging in the wardrobe, Ryan had never stopped living out of his cases and bags, so packing up took less than half an hour. After making the bed, Ryan gave the drawers a quick scan. He pulled the easel (now empty) out from behind the wardrobe, flicked off the table lamp, and, loaded with cases and bags, joined Claire in the hall without so much as a backwards glance.
Amelia and Hugo were just as ready, fully dressed and sitting on the edge of their bed, eyes drooping. Ryan ran downstairs to dump his luggage by the door before sprinting up to grab Amelia and Hugo’s cases.
“Who’s Joey?” Amelia asked after her father left the room.
“Sorry?” Claire asked.
“Jo-ey,” she repeated with a roll of her eyes. “Agnes and Jeanie were arguing about him when I went downstairs. They know what he did.”
“They know what Joey did?” Claire asked, stepping into the room. “That’s what you heard?”
“You know what Joey did!” Amelia cried, mimicking Agnes’ deep tone. “And then she slapped Jeanie.” She recreated the movement with her hand in the space between her and Hugo; her brother jumped back, suddenly wide-eyed and awake. “Wham! Right across the face!”
Ryan walked back in, slotting his phone into his pocket.
“Taxi will be here in five,” he said, beckoning for Amelia and Hugo to leave the room. “Got everything?”
“Triple-checked,” Hugo said quietly as he plodded out of the room. “Hi, Claire.”
“Hi, kiddo.”
Amelia and Hugo led the way downstairs, followed by Ryan. While they went straight to the door to wait with the bags and cases, Claire detoured into the sitting room. In a rocking chair by the window, Jeanie knitted something long and pink, fingers moving with machine precision and speed. Her eyes, meanwhile, stared at nothing.
“What did Joey do?” Claire asked bluntly.
Jeanie’s eyes snapped to Claire’s, and the knitting needles stopped their clacking. Her lips parted, but before she could speak, her brow furrowed. She looked away from Claire, focusing on her knitting. The needles and wool resumed their progress, albeit slower and more intentional.
“What’s that, dear?”
“What did Joey do?”
“I don’t think I know a Joey, dear.” Jeanie kicked the floor and the chair rocked. “Sorry, love.”
“My mistake.”
Claire left the sitting room and joined the kids at the front door while Ryan dashed out into the rain to load the taxi waiting by the kerb. Scooping up a pile of the black bags containing Ryan’s clothes, she ran out after him. She dumped the bags in the boot and turned back to the B&B as Ryan led the kids out through the front door. Jeanie watched from behind the net curtain.
Claire had always liked Jeanie, but she didn’t doubt that the B&B owner had just barefaced lied to her. She might not have got out of her what Joey had done, but the look of horror in her eyes had confirmed Amelia’s young ears hadn’t betrayed her.
Joey had done something, all right, and Claire’
s new mission was to figure out what.
CHAPTER TEN
A lthough surprised to have guests so late, a nightie-clad Janet launched into a hosting scenario Claire could only imagine she’d been waiting a lifetime to play out based on how quickly everything was done. Within five minutes of the taxi turning up, Ryan, Amelia, and Hugo were settled by the roaring fire in the sitting room with drinks and a selection of biscuits. After what sounded like a frenzied rush to strip and replace the bedding in the guest bedroom, Janet came down, fully clothed.
“The bed is ready,” she said softly, her sweet perfume twinkling in from the hall. “It’s a king-size, so it’ll fit the three of you for one night. I’ve left towels and a selection of toiletries on the bed. I also left little chocolates on your pillows but try not to eat them while in bed.”
As expected, the little family tromped straight upstairs. Claire followed soon after, far too tired to explain everything to her mother. She fed her cats extra by way of apology for being home so late, stripped off her still damp clothes, and crawled into bed wearing her softest, fluffiest pyjamas. She planned to pretend to be asleep when her mother inevitably walked in to demand answers in the shout-whisper voice she used whenever they had guests, but the soft rain pattering on the windowpane was too enticing to ignore.
Claire awoke to the sound of sparkling birdsong, with Domino curled up on one side, and Sid stretched out on the other. She performed a little stretch of her own and smiled when she opened her eyes and saw the crystal-blue sky through the gap in the curtains. She enjoyed a moment with the cats, their soft purrs the perfect morning greeting. Already in a good mood, she sat up, ready to start another day at the shop.
Only when something smashed downstairs did Claire remember the guests. She climbed out of bed, fed the cats, scooped out their litter, and hurried down in her pyjamas and slippers. Janet was in the kitchen, wiping up what appeared to be a mushy pile of cornflakes and the shattered pieces of the best china reserved for guests.
“Just a little accident!” she exclaimed, blowing her hair out of her face as she swept up the mess. “We’re having breakfast al fresco this morning.”
“Butterfingers, butterfingers!” Amelia chanted as she ran around her brother. Both already wore their school uniforms – a red jumper with a white polo shirt. It hadn’t changed since Claire and Ryan attended the same school as children. “Hugo’s clumsy! Hugo’s clumsy!”
“Shut up.” He pushed her away. “It was an accident.”
“Just an accident!” Janet said again as she dumped the contents of the dustpan into the bin. “No harm done! Now, run along outside and get yourselves seated at the table. Claire, a word.” She waited until they were outside before dragging Claire into the kitchen. “What is going on? And before you say ‘nothing,’ I know something is, girl! Does this have anything to do with Nick?”
“Ryan being here?”
“No, you acting all weird!” She swatted Claire lightly with a tea towel. “You’re running around, sneaking off here and there. What’s this I heard about a six-hour dentist appointment? You have responsibilities! You don’t just get to drop the shop when you feel like going off to Manchester to get drunk with your hippie friend.” Janet nodded, clearly pleased with herself. “Oh yes, I pay attention, dear. I see things. I saw you waiting at the bus stop yesterday morning.”
“I went to see Uncle Pat,” she said, leaning in. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?”
Janet’s jaw dropped, her gaze going straight to Claire’s father in the garden, where he read his paper while the kids played footsie under the table.
“Have you gone mad?” she hissed, pushing Claire into the hallway and closing the door behind them. “How could you do such a thing?”
“Because I’m beginning to think everyone else has gone mad!” Claire fired back. “I can’t even say Pat’s name without” – Claire paused as her mother shuddered – “people wincing. He’s not Voldemort!”
“Who’s that?”
“From Harry Potter?”
“You know I can’t stand witches and wizards, dear.”
“The point is, we can’t pretend he doesn’t exist or that he didn’t do what he did.” Claire glanced at the wall towards Graham’s cottage. “We live next door to a constant reminder!” She paused and inhaled to calm herself. “I know Dad has been sneaking my letters, and from the way you two have been lately, I think you know it, too.”
“He knows you know,” she whispered, resting a hand on her head. “Steaming the letters?”
“He knows?”
“Really, Claire?” She pursed her lips. “Don’t insult your father’s intelligence. You think a retired detective inspector wouldn’t notice? And besides, you put them back in the wrong drawer!”
“Damon did.”
“Oh!” Janet snapped her fingers together. “The Scrabble! I should have known. I see the text messages you send me. You can’t spell at the best of times.” Her brows tilted, fear crossing her face. “Why did you visit him, Claire?”
“Because I thought he was behind the vandalism of my shop.”
“Thought?” Janet rolled her eyes. “He is! The video proved it! He’s twisting your mind, Claire. He wants to use you to wriggle his way back into our good graces. He knows you’ll fall for it!”
“I’m not a kid, Mum!”
“You act like one!”
“And you don’t?” Claire planted her hands on her hips, mirroring her mother’s posture. “Stomping around, giving each other the silent treatment, avoiding talking about the one thing we should all be talking about? It’s—”
Claire stopped when she heard the upstairs bathroom door close. Ryan appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed for a day at work, with his ginger hair wet and hanging over his eyes like he used to wear it when they were kids.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning!” they replied in the same fake, high-pitched tone.
“Something smells good,” he said, spinning around the bannister.
“Breakfast is al fresco in the garden.” Janet opened the kitchen door, and rather than remaining in the hall to argue with Claire, she went back to cleaning up the mess from the dropped bowl.
Claire ate breakfast in almost complete silence, barely able to look at her father. Knowing he knew that she knew he’d been hiding her mail was embarrassing enough. The fact that he didn’t know she knew that he knew that she’d opened and read the letters was enough to make her head hurt. That conversation, at least, could wait until they didn’t have an audience.
Alan stayed behind to clear away the breakfast things as Janet, Ryan, the kids, and Claire loaded into the car. After much fiddling with the seat and the mirrors, Janet set off at her usual snail’s pace, dropping Ryan and Claire in the square before taking the kids to Northash Primary School on the edge of the village.
Parting on a promise to have lunch together there, Claire opened her candle shop. Turning the sign and unlocking the door still sent a thrill of excitement through her. Soon, a slow-but-steady stream of customers began trickling through the door. Claire desperately wanted to talk to Granny Greta about the casino, vowing that if Greta didn’t come to her, she’d make it her mission to find her when the shop closed. Thankfully, Greta and Spud stopped by on their morning walk a little before eleven.
“C-casino?” she said airily when Claire posed the question. “Where’d you hear about that, then?”
Once Claire had settled her gran in a chair with a cup of tea, she recounted the whole messy affair, beginning with her father’s mail-stealing through finally opening the letters, the subsequent prison visit, her visit to Pat’s cottage, and, at last, repeating the conversation she’d had with her mother in the hallway that very morning.
“My Alan has always been like this!” Greta announced, slamming her half-finished cup of tea down on the counter. “He had this rabbit, Oliver, which died when he was twelve, and did we dare say the name ‘Oliver’ ever again? Did we, bugg
er! Stubborn thing made it impossible. He’s a sensitive soul, but he buries his head in the sand like no other. He was the same when your grandfather died.”
“But were you part of it, Gran?” Claire asked after pausing to serve a customer who’d bought two of the coconut milk candles. She lowered her voice. “The . . . card ring?”
“Oh, you make it sound so nefarious!” Greta tutted. “It was just a bit of fun for a couple of quid. Your uncle came back from Vegas with lights in his eyes, so we set up a little club. The jackpots were tiny. Hundred quid if we were lucky. It was just for a laugh! Quite a few people got involved, but we had to keep it hush-hush.” She tapped her nose, leaned in and whispered, “Especially from your father. Not quite legal, you see, but we were doing no harm. It was Pat’s little passion project. He wasn’t in it to make money.”
One of the customers glanced over her shoulder at Greta, left her basket, and went straight for the door.
“Stopped being fun when Pat was taken away,” she continued, in a louder voice now that the shop was empty. “Nick carried it on, and I went a couple of times, but it wasn’t the same. He kept upping the stakes. Half the club dropped out then and there, but a couple stayed. I guess they liked the rush.”
The shop door opened and Em walked in, her rainbow tie-dye shorts as bright as the afternoon sun behind her. Em went straight to greeting Spud, and while she stroked him, Claire caught her up on everything she’d learned.
“That lines up with what I overheard yesterday,” Em said, rising to lean against the doorframe to the back room. “Gwyneth didn’t say much. Pretended like she didn’t know about the casino and couldn’t think of any reason why anyone would want to murder Nick. I know I said she’d never lie to me, but I could feel her lying. I took my dad’s dog for a walk around Starfall Park right before the storm hit, and who did I find but Gwyn and Joey walking around the Chinese garden. Gwyneth was crying hysterically, and Joey was trying to calm her down, but she ended up pushing him so hard he fell. Gwyneth was talking about ‘gambling too big’ and saying she ‘knew this would happen.’ Then they saw me and both went their separate ways before I could say anything to either of them.”