Claire's Candles Mystery 05 - Fresh Linen Fraud Read online

  “So, you’ve been looking for me, eh?” Claire asked, taking a step towards him. “Searching high and low?”

  “All night,” he said, dropping his hands. “The whole village. I’ve been so worried.”

  She clenched the air by her side and took a deep breath as she looked at Ryan’s lips, glistening under the hallway light.

  She’d stared at those lips countless times, always wanting to kiss them and never once acting on it.

  Tonight, she’d break the habit of a lifetime.

  Grabbing the straps of Ryan’s vest, she pulled him in, and like two jigsaw pieces fitting together, they kissed.

  Fireworks didn’t go off.

  Time didn’t stop.

  The cul-de-sac didn’t melt away.

  But oh, she was relieved.

  Relieved to be over the hurdle.

  Relieved that kissing him felt so right.

  Behind them, a throat cleared on the stairs. Claire lingered at Ryan’s lips for another second before reluctantly withdrawing. Releasing Ryan’s vest, she turned to her pinched-lipped grandmother standing three steps up. Mean Moreen loomed over them, her white hair cascading over a tightly fastened silk dressing gown – black, of course.

  Claire hadn’t heard her walk down. Perhaps there was something to Granny Greta’s insinuations that Moreen could transform into a bat at the drop of a hat.

  “You are not dead, then, I see,” she said coldly.

  “Not this time.”

  “You are blocking the stairs.”

  As Claire stepped aside, Ryan’s arm slipped around her waist, though his eyes remained on the carpet as Moreen stalked past them.

  “Gran?” Claire called as Moreen made her way to the kitchen.

  “Grandmother.”

  “Grandmother.” Claire resisted rolling her eyes. “Is it true that you used to work at the factory?”

  Moreen stiffened, her hands clasped at her waist as she peered indirectly back at them.

  “Yes,” she said rigidly. “Briefly.”

  Claire smiled as she watched a layer of Moreen’s self-imposed superiority melt away.

  “Fascinating.” Claire wrapped her hand around Ryan’s. “I never knew we had so much in common.”

  For most grandmothers, such a statement would invoke a smile, maybe even a hug. Moreen only glared at her from the corner of her eye, nostrils flared and ready to breathe fire. She croaked an acknowledgement and continued to the kitchen.

  “You almost got her there.” Ryan pulled her down onto the steps as they laughed like schoolchildren. “Claire?”

  “Yeah?”

  Ryan’s fingers slid up her cheek, and he pulled her in for another kiss. This time, her mind slipped backwards. They were on the same step from the sixteenth birthday party picture.

  The hallway looked different.

  They looked different.

  Things were different.

  This was different.

  Another tart throat clearing pulled them apart and Moreen squeezed between them with a glass of water. She floated upstairs, leaving them to laugh under their breaths, hiding their faces in each other’s necks.

  Maybe not so different.

  “I made cocoa!” Janet announced from the kitchen. “Get it while it’s hot.”

  To Claire’s surprise, two pairs of eyes appeared through the bannister at the top of the stairs. Amelia and Hugo, dressed in their pyjamas, crept into view, their eyes bleary with sleep.

  “Hi, Claire,” Hugo said. “You’re okay.”

  “I am,” she replied. “I hope I didn’t worry you.”

  “I told you she’d be fine,” Amelia said with a yawn. “Where are your glasses?”

  “Lost them in a river.”

  “Cool.”

  “You might as well come down and have some cocoa.” Janet squeezed through Claire and Ryan, carrying a steaming mug. “There’s squirty cream and marshmallows.”

  Janet stuck to the wall to make room for Amelia and Hugo to run down. Ryan followed them into the kitchen.

  “I looked after them while Ryan looked for you,” Janet said, pausing on the steps. “He didn’t stop. He cares about you a lot.”

  “Yeah, he does.” Claire smiled. “You can’t possibly be taking that to your mother.”

  Janet snorted. “Can you imagine? No. Ash is on the sofa bed in the computer room,” she said, carrying on to the next step. “After our last conversation, I realised I couldn’t leave him alone in that house. I don’t know what the next move will be, but for now, that child needs a few days to just be.”

  In the kitchen, Ryan squirted cream directly into Amelia’s mouth before leaving a dollop on her nose. She laughed, pushed him away, and threw a pink marshmallow at him.

  Ryan’s being a father was, of course, the biggest difference between the present and the past, and Claire loved seeing what it brought out in him.

  “What’s this?” Claire asked, joining her father at the dining table. “Planning a walk?”

  “I asked young Leo to circle where he thought the storage buildings are.” He jabbed his finger at a red circle in the middle of a large map.

  “Where is he?”

  “Isn’t he here? He was a moment ago, until…” Alan glanced around the kitchen. “Until I told him an officer was on their way to take statements about what you witnessed. Is it true they had guns?”

  “Shotguns.”

  “Like the post office.”

  Claire nodded, staring at the red circle.

  “I know that face,” Alan said with a grin. “I invented that face. What’s on your mind, little one?”

  “It might be nothing.”

  “It might be something.”

  “A feeling,” she said. “That everything isn’t as it seems. It would make sense for this gang to be behind Eryk’s shooting. A neat bow.”

  “But?”

  “Tomek.” She took the chair next to him. “Who killed Tomek, and why? And why were his prints on the gun? I asked Leo, but I’m certain he was lying. He told me he was scared, and I believed him.”

  “Of what?” he asked, leaning in. “Or should I say, of whom?”

  “I wish I…”

  Claire’s voice drifted off as she noticed the positioning of the red circle on the map. Clutching the table, she stood and leaned in. Without her glasses, the details never came into focus. She snagged her father’s frames and held them up to her eyes. The prescription wasn’t identical, but it wasn’t far off.

  Sally, a chunky knit blanket from the sitting room wrapped around her shoulders, joined them in staring at the circle.

  “That’s not right,” Claire said, tapping the marked spot. “There’s no river on here. Or allotments.”

  “And there weren’t that many houses,” said Sally, dragging her fingertip over the map. “We viewed a house over here. Maybe he got it wrong?”

  “Twenty miles wrong?” said Alan.

  “He’s trying to throw us off the scent.” Claire dropped heavily into the chair and returned her father’s glasses. “He knew exactly where we were the entire time; he guided us home. He’s lying.”

  “Something else he said set off my alarm bells,” Sally said, circling the allotments on the map and drawing several arrows to it. “That comment about Eryk being in debt.”

  “You said it didn’t sound right.”

  “Because it doesn’t,” she said, popping the lid on the pen. “Eryk was viewing houses with my company last month, and the price range in which he was shopping always needs financial preapproval. We’re talking the last step before houses become full-on mansions. You can’t fake those numbers, and loan shark money certainly wouldn’t pass.”

  “Could have got into debt quickly?” Claire mused. “Or Leo is lying about that too? Either way, I don’t think we can’t trust a single thing he said.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  T he adrenaline and painkillers had worn off by sunrise, and Claire winced the second she threw back her be
dcovers and her foot touched the floor.

  “Nope,” she said, immediately crawling back into the soft warmth of her bed. “Not today.”

  Damon was far too capable of running the show for her to spend a day grinning through the pain. After she texted him, he came up with breakfast, and they ate bacon and egg sandwiches sprawled on her bed while a classic episode of The Simpsons played on Channel 4. He fed the cats; put painkillers, coffee, and a glass of water next to her bed; and went down to man the shop.

  Alone in her flat and wearing her thick, black-rimmed spare glasses, she snuggled up with Domino and Sid in bed while The Simpsons played back-to-back, pausing only for adverts. She hadn’t spent a Saturday this way since her days at the factory. Compared to how she’d been spending her days lately, the normalcy was refreshing.

  Before leaving her parents’ house the night before, she’d given the police her statement about the gun-wielding booze boys. On reflection, following the cars had proven to be one of her more reckless impulsive decisions, though she hoped the experience might bring about some justice.

  Today, she was content to be lazy. She’d have been fine to spend the day alone with only the company of the cats, Homer, and the indistinct chatter in the shop below. As it happened, she didn’t need to.

  “I bought all your favourites,” Ryan said, dropping onto the bed as he tipped out the contents of a plastic bag. “Wotsits, Starburst, Cadburys, and Vimto.”

  Ryan’s knowledge of her favourite things was frozen in their youth. Not that she didn’t still love them, but it was almost touching that, in some way, Ryan still thought of her like that.

  “Flying visit?” she asked as he curled up on the bed and popped open a packet of cheesy Wotsits.

  “Pulled a sickie,” he admitted through the first mouthful. “With the hours I put in at the gym, I’ve earned it. Your mum’s put the kids to work helping clean the windows”

  “Child labour.” Claire picked up a packet of cheese puffs. “Classic Janet.”

  “They seemed to be enjoying it.” The Vimto hissed as he twisted the cap. “Means I’m yours for the day. If you want me?”

  “Nah,” she said, grinning. “Bugger off.”

  A fluffy scatter cushion bounced off her head, and she launched it straight back.

  “You’re abusing your patient.”

  “It’s your ankle that hurts,” he said, sucking the caked-on cheese dust from his finger. “I could give you a foot rub?”

  “You know how I feel about people touching my feet.” She shuddered. “Pass.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, grazing his finger along the sole of her left foot. “I forgot how ticklish you are.”

  “Ryan!” Claire jerked her leg away. “I have no problem ruining your pretty face with the heel of my foot.”

  “Oh, it’s pretty now, is it?” His grin widened as he unwrapped a red Starburst. “You’re funny.”

  “Funny looking?”

  “You know I think you’re beautiful.”

  Claire’s heart skipped a beat as the jovial, teasing nature of their conversation took a sudden turn. Not only did she not know it, she hadn’t even considered the possibility that he’d think that way about her.

  “I didn’t know that,” she said, swallowing around the sudden dryness. “You’ve never said it before.”

  “Haven’t I?” His eyes widened in what appeared to be genuine surprise. “I’ve always thought it.”

  Claire was about to ask if always meant always since his return or always always. The sound of someone jogging up the staircase delayed the question.

  “Oh,” Sally said, taking a step inside and immediately freezing. “Not interrupting, am I?”

  “Only Starburst and The Simpsons.”

  “Got any green ones left?” she asked, joining them on the bed.

  “Who likes the green ones?” Ryan passed her the bag. “Red is where it’s at.”

  “You’re both wrong because it’s actually purple,” she said, noticing Sally’s quietness as she stared into the bag without digging around. “Mate?”

  “I’m being followed,” she whispered, putting the bag down without taking any. “I just finished my second viewing of the morning, and I’ve already seen three of those black cars. They know who we are.”

  “How?” Claire sat up. “They never got a proper look at us.”

  “My car, maybe?” Sally scratched at her hair. “It was fine when my Mum took me to get it at the crack of dawn this morning. Place was all quiet. Can you find out who owns a car from a licence plate? I thought they’d have been arrested by now. We told the police everything they needed to know.”

  “It’s never that simple.”

  Glad the painkillers had taken the edge off, Claire used various pieces of furniture to make her way to the front window. Stroking Domino as she sunbathed in the windowsill, Claire stared at the Saturday bustle below.

  Four black cars encased the clock tower in a square.

  “Your dad said it might be an intimidation technique,” Sally whispered, appearing next to her. “Are they going to kill us? Are we next?”

  “We’re going to be fine,” she replied, stepping away from the window. “When did you see my dad?”

  “He’s downstairs helping Damon.”

  Claire ventured down for the first time all morning. The usual Saturday busyness had returned, a stark contrast to the long, quiet hours following Eryk’s shooting only a week earlier.

  “I see them, little one,” said Alan when she joined him behind the counter. “Don’t you worry. Harry’s getting everything into place so they can strike. They’ve had eyes on the storage units since sunrise. Once they get the go ahead from above, this will all be over.”

  “So, they do think the murders were gang-related?” she whispered, smiling at one of her semi-regulars as Damon served her. “Have they got anything we don’t know?”

  “Other than the connection of the fake alcohol and the gun, no,” he said with a sigh, “but maybe that’s all they need. If there’s a case to be built, they’ll be able to start assembling it today.”

  A trio of women crowding the star candle display moved, revealing a woman with a red flower in her hair. Anna sniffed a rose petal candle, one of the leftovers from the month before. Claire had moved them to a smaller display.

  “Do you like it?” asked Claire as she approached.

  “Yes.” Anna’s eyes narrowed. “I have the same one at home. Do I know you?”

  “This is my shop,” she explained. “We haven’t spoken before, but I know—”

  “Ah, yes, I know who you are now.” Anna put the lid back on the jar and returned it. “You’re the meddler, asking everyone in my family questions about Eryk. You must have been my husband’s mistress.”

  Claire leaned against the stand for support and lifted a placating hand.

  “I don’t think we’re on the same page here,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t having an affair with your husband. My mother, Janet, worked for him.”

  “Oh.” Anna looked her up and down again. “You’re just his type. I assumed it must be you. Why are you asking so many questions? Leo told me you are harassing him.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” she said under her breath. “I just want to know what’s going on in the village, like everyone else. Like I’m sure you do. It’s been a rough week, but I don’t need to tell you that. I’m terribly sorry for what you’ve gone through.”

  “Thank you.” Anna raised a smile. “And yes, it has been the most difficult week, and I haven’t made it easier for myself.”

  Anna looked through the wall as though seeing the destruction she’d caused at the post office. She probably didn’t even remember taking a swing at Claire with the golf club.

  “My family are close,” she said, once again picking up the jar and pulling off the lid. “Even as our numbers dwindle, we are loyal to each other. We don’t hurt each other. Whatever you think happened, you don’t know the half of it.”<
br />
  Sniffing the candle, Anna half-turned and looked through the window out the corner of her eye. Claire couldn’t be sure, but she seemed to be checking if the black cars were still there.

  “You mean the fake alcohol?” Claire pushed. “And the gang?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Gossip gets around quickly,” she lied. “It seems Eryk got himself into a bit of a mess.”

  Anna’s eyes snapped back to Claire as the candle jar slipped from her fingers. The glass shattered on contact. When the naked pink candle stopped rolling away, silence had fallen over the shop.

  “My husband did no such thing,” Anna said in a harsh whisper. “How dare you!”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “Everything alright here?” Alan interjected as Damon hurried over with a dustpan and brush.

  “Just an accident, Dad.”

  Anna didn’t avert her furious stare; every flicker of rage was clear in her icy blue eyes. Claire didn’t need to ask to know how much she’d offended the widow. Hearing her words, she was reminded of Em’s comment about choosing the right time to show someone the picture you’d painted of the situation.

  “Stay away from my family,” said Anna, pointing an accusatory finger. “That’s a warning.”

  “Now, now.” Alan held up his hands between them. “There’s no need for threats, is there?”

  Anna’s finger didn’t drop.

  Her gaze didn’t waver.

  Without a shadow of a doubt, Claire believed the threat. She’d seen Anna swinging that golf club, after all.

  “Idiota.”

  Anna left, and Claire didn’t need a translator to know what she’d just been called. Had her idiocy been that offensive? She watched Anna turn right towards the post office. The closest black car sailed after her.

  “You struck a nerve,” Damon said, sweeping up the last of the glass as the customers awakened around them. “What did you say to her?”

  “That Eryk got himself into trouble with the gang.” She rearranged the candles to disguise that one was missing. “It’s like she was more upset by the insinuation than the fact I’d said it. Almost like this was the first she’d heard of it?”

  “Maybe Eryk didn’t keep her abreast of his illegal activity?” Damon used the display to pull himself up. “Don’t let it get to you. The police are on it now. Like your dad said, it will all be over today.”