by Agatha Frost
“On me,” Claire announced, reaching for her purse. “I need to spend my money on something now that I’m a small business owner.”
Ryan and Damon drifted to the table in the corner, which was where Claire drank with each of them whenever she visited. Seeing them get along so easily was a relief. She’d worried she’d have another Sally and Damon situation on her hands; feeling like she needed to keep her friends separate was awful.
“Three pints of homebrew, is it, Claire?” Theresa asked, already reaching for the clean glasses. “How’s the shop going? I’ve meant to get over to show my face, but you know what it’s like. We’re married to this place.”
“Gladly,” Malcolm said, kissing his wife on the cheek as he passed. “I’ve been seeing your little flame bags all week. We knew you’d pull it off.”
“I’m glad you did,” she joked. “But thank you, I really appreciate that. I’ll drop off a bag of samples tomorrow.”
“That’s very sweet of you.” Theresa put the first pint of dark Hesketh Homebrew onto the brass plate on the bar. “I do like a candle with a bubble bath.”
Claire reached into her bag to grab her purse. The thought of a bubble bath was an enticing one. She’d been so busy in the months leading to the shop opening, she’d only had time to grab showers – and not even her usual long ones, at that. After rounding off the stressful day with her friends and a drink, maybe she’d remedy that when she got home. She paid and carried all three pints over at once, only spilling a little as she settled them onto the circular dark wood table.
“Do you think Gwyneth did it?” Damon asked after sipping his beer. “News travelled up the hill just before the end of our shift, and that’s what everyone was saying. She’s a clear link between the two men.”
“But not the only link,” Claire pointed out, the bitter homebrew familiar and comforting on her tongue. “I thought the same, though, until just now.”
“You believed it, too?” Ryan asked as he picked up his pint. “She seemed broken.”
“Yeah, she did.” Damon yawned and pushed up his glasses. “Who else is on your list of suspects, Claire?”
Claire stared at the reflection of the light on the wall through the shiny surface of the table. Something itched in the back of her mind like a bug bite she couldn’t quite scratch.
“A fencing blade,” Damon said when she didn’t reply. “That was a bit weird, don’t you think? Who even fences these days?”
“Like a fencing blade,” Claire pointed out, a penny dropping in her mind as the words left her lips. “There are other blunt, pointed instruments.”
“Like what?” Ryan asked.
“Like a knitting needle.” Claire’s stomach lurched. “That would do it.”
“Knitting needle?” Ryan’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
The penny landed on the floor of her mind with a deafening thud. More pennies followed, clattering and reverberating as pieces of information fell into place.
“Who are you talking about?” Damon asked.
“Agnes,” Ryan answered. “I think. Surely not?”
“Why not?” Claire asked with a shrug. “Her name was there in the guestbook. You never know what someone is capable of. We’re all only one decision away from ruining our lives.” She stood so suddenly she knocked the top off her pint, but she couldn’t stay to drink it. “I think we need to get to the B&B.”
Claire ran for the door, but before her hands touched the wood, she spun and redirected herself to the bar. Ryan and Damon skidded to a halt right behind her, diverting themselves. Claire leaned against the bar, looking through the open door at the back of the pub. Malcolm wasn’t there, but Theresa, with a jaw-cracking yawn, was refilling a box with bags of crisps. She caught Claire’s eye on the tail end and pushed forward a smile, too perfect a host to let her tiredness show.
“Surely not another so fast?” Theresa asked with a chuckle. “You must have had a hard day.”
“Something like that,” Claire said, glancing at their table. “We’ve actually got to go. I just wanted to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“My uncle’s casino,” she said, cutting straight to the point. “I heard you and Malcolm were part of it?”
Theresa’s smile faltered for a brief second before she picked up a cloth and dragged it over the already sparkling bar.
“We were,” she replied in a quieter voice. “We left, though.”
“When Nick took over?”
Theresa nodded. “It was a bit of fun, at first, but they kept driving up the stakes. I was surprised anyone stuck around.”
“Was Agnes one of them?”
“Oh, she loved it,” Theresa whispered, glancing at the two half-asleep men propped up at the end of the bar in front of their almost-drained pints. “Greedier than I ever thought, that one. Nothing like her sister, is she?”
“That she’s not.” Claire slapped the bar and pushed away. “Thanks, Theresa. We need to go.”
They left the pub, setting off across the quiet square under the golden glow of the streetlamps – first at a walk, then a fast walk, and finally a sprint. With no rain to slow them, they reached the B&B in less than a minute.
“I’ve lived with the woman for months,” Ryan said. “Being grumpy is one thing, but murder?”
“She wasn’t just grumpy though, was she?” Claire wasted no time running up the stairs before turning and adding, “You saw her dragging Amelia up the stairs. And Jeanie’s cheek?”
Claire opened the front door and headed straight down the hallway without pausing. She followed the sound of weeping. In the sitting room, Jeanie was crying in the corner, clutching her wrist and rocking back and forth. Claire rushed over and wrapped an arm around the hysterical woman.
“Did Agnes do this?” Claire asked.
“I think it’s broken,” she said through hiccoughed breaths.
“Jeanie, did your sister do this to you?”
She nodded, letting go of her wrist to roughly wipe away her tears with her uninjured hand. “She’s always had our father’s nasty streak.”
Claire helped Jeanie up off the floor and into her rocking chair. Next to it, a basket of wool sat on a side table, various knitting needles stabbed into the balls.
“Get her something cold from the kitchen,” Claire instructed Ryan. “Damon, go with him.”
The two of them went without a fuss, and when Claire was alone with Jeanie, she perched on the edge of the coffee table and held the woman’s unhurt hand between both of hers.
“I see it in your eyes,” Claire said, offering a supportive squeeze. “I’ve seen that look in the mirror in my own eyes. You know what Agnes did, don’t you? You know she murdered Nick and Joey?”
Jeanie could only nod before the wailing started afresh. Ryan rushed in with a bag of frozen cauliflower wrapped in a tea towel. He handed it to Claire, who placed it gently on Jeanie’s swollen wrist where the skin was hot to the touch.
“She gambled everything!” Jeanie cried through her sobs. “Every penny we had ever made from this place, she fed into that stupid club! She kept winning enough to keep the debt collectors at bay, but she was obsessed with the idea of making enough to get rid of all of our debt. She really believed it was going to work. She said women our age shouldn’t have so much debt hanging over them. I wanted her to focus on the B&B, maybe advertising in a travel magazine, but she was convinced Nick could win her what she needed. ‘He’s done it before, and he’ll do it again’ she kept saying.”
“How much did he win her?”
“A little over four thousand,” Jeanie said, stumbling over the number. “Enough to pay off a quarter of the mortgage left on this place, but it wasn’t enough for her. She fed it all back in, and he lost it all. Every penny. He said he’d sort it, but how could he? I left the club when things got too serious, but Agnes? She just couldn’t give it up – another thing she inherited from our father.” Through a sad smile, Jeanie told Ryan, “If you hadn’
t paid us so consistently, we’d have shut down long ago. You’ve been our only regular source of income.”
Claire thought back to Jeanie’s remark about them being their only guests when they’d left the sisters to babysit Amelia and Hugo the night of Claire’s surprise party. Agnes had been indifferent to them, but Jeanie had seemed so eager to bend over backwards. Though she’d sensed some unrest between the sisters then, she would never have guessed how deep their rift ran.
“Where’s Agnes now?” Claire asked, looking up at the ceiling. “Is she here?”
“No.” Jeanie pulled the tea towel from the frozen veg and rubbed her eyes with it. “She came home covered in blood. God, there was so much blood.” Her bottom lip wobbled. “She went for a bath, and then packed us each a suitcase and proclaimed that we were leaving Northash. When I refused, she tried to drag me.” She glanced at her wrist. “I think it is broken.”
“Where did she go?” Ryan asked.
“She said she was going to catch a train.” Jeanie rested her head against the back of the rocking chair and closed her eyes. “I don’t know which station.”
“What’s the nearest?” Claire asked.
“Looking,” Damon said, already on his phone. “Clitheroe Interchange. No running trains until morning. Nearest station with any departing trains is Preston, and it looks like there’s an hour wait until any of them set off.”
“How far is Preston in a car?”
“About forty minutes,” Damon answered. “Could be quicker this time of night.”
“When did she leave?”
“About half an hour ago.” Jeanie looked at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece. “Give or take.”
“Call yourself an ambulance for that wrist,” Claire instructed as she stood. “We need to get to Preston station.”
“There’s still one taxi running,” Damon revealed, tapping on his phone. “This new app is marvellous. Shall I book it?”
“No,” she said, already heading to the door. “It’ll be quicker if we run to the rank.”
Once again, they sprinted through the square, up past the post office, and straight into the Northash Taxi rank. Through the small window in the wall between the waiting area and office, Claire saw Ste with a headset wrapped around his neck. To Claire’s surprise, Em was cross-legged on the counter behind him, a creased paperback in her lap, folded at the spine.
“Claire?” Em grinned, sliding off the counter and marking her page with a fold in the corner. “What a nice surprise. Are you three off on a little night out? Canal Street in Manchester will just about be getting going at this time. Cheap drinks mid-week, too.”
“As tempting as that sounds, not tonight,” she replied, her breath shaky from the running and the shock. “We need to get to Preston station immediately.”
“Another one?” Ste arched a brow as he pulled off his headset. “Just had one of them sisters from the B&B waiting about fifteen minutes for a taxi to take her. Tapped her foot the whole bloody time. Was driving me up the wall.”
“Count yourselves lucky that’s all she did,” Claire said, looking back at Ryan and Damon before turning back to Ste and saying, “I think she killed your brother and Joey. And if we don’t get to the station now, she might just get away with it.”
“Then I guess I’m driving.” Ste leaned forward and snatched a set of keys from the wall. “Car’s out front.”
They piled into the blue car with the Northash Taxi sticker on the side. Once Claire was sandwiched between Damon and Ryan in the backseat, she realised it was the same cab they’d taken back from Manchester.
“I’m going to kill her,” Ste said, his calm voice a contrast to his words as he tugged his seatbelt across his stomach and chest. “Don’t let me near her, Em, because I will kill her.”
“Let’s just focus on driving.” Em patted his hand as he pushed down the handbrake and eased the car away from the kerb. “One turn at a time.”
Ste turned the lights on, illuminating the park entrance. The back of a bright pink dressing gown with white and gold trim caught Claire’s eye, and she knew who it belonged to before the occupant turned around. Sally spun at the sudden flare of light, holding a plastic bag from the late-night tiny chain supermarket on the other side of the roundabout. She leaned forward and squinted before rushing to the edge of the street to wave her arms.
“Can you stop?” Claire instructed Ste, leaning over Damon to wind down the window before shouting, “I thought we took you home.”
“Fancied ice cream.” Sally peered into the car, her gown opening enough to reveal that she was, thankfully, wearing pyjamas. “You’re not off on a night out without me, are you?”
“Better,” Damon replied, pushing up his glasses. “We’re off to confront a murderer.”
“Which is why we need to go,” Claire said, smiling her apology as she checked the clock in the dashboard. “Sorry, Sally, we—”
“Not without me, I don’t think.” Sally ripped open the door and clumsily climbed in, cramming herself onto Damon’s lap. “Paul won’t even notice I’ve gone.” She awkwardly closed the door behind her, head bent at an uncomfortable angle against the fabric ceiling. She pulled a tub of strawberry cheesecake ice cream from the bag, and said, “Don’t suppose anyone has a spoon?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T hey followed the road along the bottom wall of Starfall Park until it gave way to the A-roads of the countryside. These soon turned to B-roads, and after a little congestion at a large roundabout thanks to a slip road being closed for roadworks, they finally broke free onto the motorway.
Once Ste reached the same speed as the few cars dotted along the quiet stretch, he surpassed them and kept speeding until the g-force dragged Claire backwards into the middle seat. She comforted herself by mentally repeating that if anyone could speed safely, it was a taxi driver. The mantra might even have worked if she didn’t see Em’s hand darting to Ste’s knee to give it a gentle squeeze when the speed dial crept past ninety miles per hour. He slowed down a little, but his erratic weaving without indicating had blaring horns following them all the way down the motorway.
No one spoke.
No one dared.
Even Sally, so drunk that she had no problem sitting on Damon’s lap in a dressing gown and licking the surface of a tub of ice cream like a cat, picked up on the tension in the air and didn’t say a word. If Claire hadn’t watched Sally polish off a bottle and a half of wine to herself following her shock discovery on the casino stairs, she would have insisted Ste pull over to let someone else drive. As it turned out, minus the drunk, they didn’t have a licence between them.
Thankfully, just when Claire was sure she couldn’t take another second of fearing for her life, the motorway ended in a large roundabout. Not long afterwards, they were in a built-up residential area and heading into Preston. Forced to finally slow down, it felt like they were crawling, but a quick glance at the clock let Claire know they’d easily shaved ten minutes from the time the journey usually took.
The roundabouts and residential areas continued until they reached the familiar wide road towards the centre of the city. On either side of the road, groups of young adults strolled in the dark. The ones walking towards the city were laughing and joking, and the ones walking away were in states like Sally’s. The edge of the bustling centre came up, but they turned right down a steep road that led straight to the grand entrance of the station. All their seatbelts unclicked before the car ground to a halt, perfectly centred in a parking space despite the swift stop.
Sally lumbered out first, helped with Damon’s awkward shoving. Claire climbed out of Ryan’s side, and they set off to the entrance. More young people loitered around the station entrance. One girl leaned against the wall in a short dress, shoes clutched in one hand, sobbing into her mobile phone. Two guys kissed on the other side, and another guy and girl argued in slurred shout-whispers as they walked back up the steep hill. Claire sometimes wondered what she’d missed not go
ing to university.
“I think I’m—” Sally ran to the edge of the small, walled-in car park with her hand over her mouth. She bent over, and the wine and ice cream came back up.
“I’ll stay with her,” Damon said with a waft of his hand. “That car ride was enough adventure for one day.”
With Sally and Damon waiting outside, they rushed through the bright ticket office and straight into the giant, open-air station. Obviously built in the Victorian era, the sheer scale of the exposed-steel roof always took Claire’s breath away. Matching steel walkways spread in either direction from the central platform, and they went down to two more long-reaching platforms on either side. The station was massive, and Claire couldn’t see Agnes.
“We go in twos,” Claire instructed, remembering her father’s advice about never deploying lone officers. “We’ll each check a side of the central platforms, and then Ryan and I will take the right side, and you two take the left. There are underground walkways at the bottom.”
“What about the police?” Em asked. “Shouldn’t we call someone to let them know what you’ve figured out?”
“Let’s just see if Agnes is here first,” Claire said, eyes consciously scanning the large space. “We could be too late.”
With that, they went straight down the extended central platform, splitting at the row of shops and toilets right in the middle. Drunk youths were dotted around the place in small clusters, most worn-out and droopy as they waited for a late-night train home. There was a parked train on one of the right platforms, and another on the left side of the centre, but the train to Leeds wasn’t due to leave for another ten minutes, and the train to Blackpool North for another twenty.
“She’s not on this one,” Ryan said after running to the bottom and back again. “Can’t see her on the other side either. Should we check the bathrooms?”
“Worth a try.” Claire watched as Em and Ste ran into the underground tunnel. “Why do I have a feeling she’s not here?”
“I don’t know,” Ryan said, exhaling heavily as he looked around the cavernous station, “but I have the same feeling.”