Rose Petal Revenge (Claire's Candles Cozy Mystery Book 4) Page 14

  “What are you laughing at?” Ryan picked up a handful of popcorn from the seat and sprinkled it over Claire like confetti. “Someone has to clean all this up.”

  “It was funny though,” Amelia said, clambering over the seats to grab her coat. “Sorry, Dad.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Ryan shooed her down the aisle while he summoned Hugo with his other hand. “We’re going to be in here for the next screening at this rate, and believe me, the film wasn’t good enough for another go.”

  The animated feature filled with singing and talking animals had clearly been made with children in mind. It had also been the type of movie that allowed Claire’s mind to wander without missing anything. Ryan and Claire had sat in the middle of the row with Amelia on Ryan’s side and Hugo on Claire’s. For a good chunk of the film, Claire had felt Ryan’s fingers restlessly fidgeting on his knee. As sure as she’d been that he wanted to hold her hand, neither of them had been brave enough to reach out and make the move. After being ‘just friends’ for so long, it turned out even the littlest things were extremely difficult, and made all the more challenging by their lack of discussion to clarify what was going on between them.

  At the cinema with two kids, Claire hadn’t expected much discussion. She hadn’t been sure what would happen. Though Sally had spent the tight hour between closing the shop and waiting for Ryan trying to convince Claire to ‘dress up’, she was grateful she’d ignored the pleas. She’d worn her usual comfy clothes and a generous application of the new, sweet perfume; this time, Ryan hadn’t commented on it. Still, the two hours sat in the dark watching the film had been a nice break from the reality of what was going on in Northash. More importantly, it felt like proof that, despite their awkward moment in the cellar, they could still function in the same room, even if there was a veneer of awkwardness.

  With the kids in line, they left the screening room, passing a small army of disgruntled-looking teens and young adults armed with brooms and bins. Claire offered them an apologetic smile, but none returned the gesture.

  “What do they put in those drinks?” Ryan whispered to Claire as they left the cinema, the kids bouncing around in front of them. “They’re never going to sleep tonight. Oh . . .” He reached out and pulled something sticky from Claire’s hair. “Popcorn.”

  And there it was again.

  The look.

  “Daaad?” Amelia called from further down the carpark. “Can we get a burger?”

  “Burger?” Ryan switched the question on Claire, flicking the popcorn to the ground, diverting his gaze. “My treat.”

  “How could I refuse such an offer?”

  Claire linked arms with him, and they followed the kids towards the brightly lit McDonalds on the edge of the large carpark. Amelia and Hugo ran straight in, immediately heading to the large screens to input their orders. Two Happy Meals, a quarter-pounder meal, and a chicken salad later, Ryan tapped his card against the machine and collected their receipt. While he and Claire waited for their order number to pop up on the screen, the kids ran across to play on the game tablets poking out of one of the long tables.

  “Remember when we both worked Saturday nights at the old McDonalds?” Ryan asked, his meaty arms folded across his broad chest and a big smile on his face. “The one with the upstairs ball pit?”

  “Wow, there’s a memory from the archive.”

  “Still possibly the best job I ever had.”

  “Same,” Claire agreed. “Couldn’t have done more than that one year, though. I was relieved when they fired me.”

  “What did they get you for?”

  “I kept giving Sally eight nuggets whenever she ordered six.”

  “Rebel.” Ryan winked. “Remember that time you and I were on close and we snuck upstairs with as many cheeseburgers as we could carry and played in the ball pit? How old must we have been?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Blimey,” he said, sucking the air through his teeth. “We’re getting old, Claire. Nearly twenty years ago.”

  “Some of us are looking better on it than others,” she said, nodding at his muscles.

  “Give over, you don’t look any different to me.”

  Claire couldn’t help but smile.

  Their number appeared on screen, prompting Ryan to approach the counter. Claire went to follow, but the vibration of her phone against her thigh, still on silent from the cinema, stopped her in her tracks. She didn’t have the number saved in her phone, but she recognised it immediately as the station’s; her father had worked there long enough.

  “Hello?” she answered. “Detective Inspector?”

  “No,” a soft, quiet voice replied. “It’s Sean.”

  Claire pulled the phone from her ear to check the number again.

  “Sean?” She put a finger in her other ear and went through the sliding doors into the warm night air. “Is everything alright?”

  “I’ve been arrested,” he said casually, like he was reporting on the weather. “The man gave me your phone number. I didn’t know who else to call. Can you help me?”

  “Is this your one phone call?”

  “Yes.”

  Claire wanted to ask why he’d called her instead of a solicitor, but that wouldn’t help the situation. Though his tone was flat, his words told a different story; he’d called her because he was scared.

  “Don’t panic,” she said, “and don’t answer any questions yet. Just say no comment, do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sean?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you try to kill Taron?” She exhaled heavily. “Did you kill Mark?”

  “No.”

  Claire believed him.

  “I’ll try to fix this, okay?”

  “Okay.” After a long pause, he added, “Thank you. I have to go now.”

  Sean hung up as the doors slid open. Bags of food in hand, Ryan shepherded the kids outside. His smile dropped when he saw Claire’s face.

  “Don’t suppose you know any solicitors?” she asked.

  “No, why?”

  “Sean’s been arrested.” She scrolled through her phone to one of her least used contacts and reluctantly hit the green call button. “Sally isn’t going to like this one bit.”

  After a very brief and formal phone call, they quickly ate their food while waiting for their taxi at one of the few outdoor tables in the tight space in front of the restaurant. Instead of Ste, a very young man doused in aftershave who drove like he was in a racing computer game pulled up. On another day, Claire might have asked him to slow down, but he got them back to the village in what felt like record time.

  Rather than taking the taxi to the station, they got out at the village square. Em and Damon were waiting for them. Em whisked the kids away, her promise of a sleepover on her narrowboat reigniting their excitement after a more subdued drive home.

  “They just turned up an hour ago,” Damon explained in a hurried voice as they started walking towards the station. “Ramsbottom said he had concrete evidence proving it was Sean. He was almost foaming at the mouth.”

  “What could he have?” Ryan asked.

  “He said he was following a lead when I saw him earlier,” Claire mused. “Apparently, he was on his way to find some CCTV footage to back it up. Something either Daniel or Rina said to him must have pointed him in Sean’s direction.”

  The steep incline of Park Lane slowed them down. Next to The Park Inn, which looked empty, the grand front entrance to Starfall was still taped off. To their right on the steep hill next to the mini roundabout was a florist, the estate agents where Sally worked, the solicitors where Paul worked, and the always-open mini supermarket. All had cameras on their fronts pointing towards the park, as did the Northash Taxi rank opposite it.

  “One of these must have put Sean in the area around the time Mark was stabbed,” Claire said, carrying on up the steep lane. “Rina said Mark called to meet her here around half nine. When you got out of the bath, Sean was al
ready on the sofa eating ice cream. According to Rina, I showed up around ten, which means if Sean did kill Mark, it had to have been at least five minutes before that to get himself comfy on the sofa with the ice cream.”

  “He’d eaten a lot of it,” Damon explained. “Most of it, actually, and it was a big tub. He couldn’t have polished that off so quickly.”

  “Probably because he went to the shop and straight back to your flat,” she replied, sighing as they passed the side entrance of the park, closed off like the front. “I can’t shake the image of his feet sticking out of the bushes. I know he wasn’t the nicest guy, but nobody deserves that fate. The way he was stabbed . . . it looked like it was done with so much rage.”

  “That tall idiot,” Damon said, echoing her sigh. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’ll miss him. He could be funny when he wasn’t being annoying.”

  “How tall?” Ryan asked.

  “Really tall,” Claire answered. “Not feeling insecure, are you?”

  “No.” Ryan stopped walking and turned to look back down at the square. “I went out running last night to clear my head.” He paused and forced a cough. “I’d just done a lap around the park and was on my way home. When I was passing by that alley, a skinny, tall guy banged right into me. Didn’t apologise, just kept going, but all I could think about was how bloody tall he was. Easily six foot five.”

  “Six foot six,” Damon corrected, “and a bit. He always made sure to mention the bit.”

  “What time was that?” Claire asked.

  “Erm . . .” His brow furrowed. “Em came ‘round after . . .” His voice trailed off and his eyes darted to Claire; she knew he was thinking about the cellar. “She offered to watch the kids. I got home from my run around seven, I think. Yeah, it had to be. I remember hearing the Emmerdale theme from Mrs Brown next door when I was taking my running shoes off. Mum always used to watch the soaps, and I’m guessing the times haven’t changed much since?”

  “Bang on the dot of seven every weekday,” Damon declared. When Claire and Ryan looked at him, he added, “What? They’re an easy watch after work.”

  “So, Mark was here around seven yesterday?” Claire walked back down to the side entrance. “Rina said someone called to meet him, but she made it sound like it happened not long before he called her. Said he was streaming and then he left.”

  “That’s an easy check.” Damon pulled out his phone, and after some tapping, said, “Mark’s last ever stream ended at 6:42 yesterday evening.”

  “He didn’t seem like he was on his way to meet someone,” Ryan said, the last to join Claire at the side entrance. “A woman came out of the alley straight after and ran after him. I saw them both go into the park. It seemed like he was trying to get away from her. They were arguing.”

  “What woman?” Claire pushed.

  “I don’t know.” Ryan shrugged. “I only saw her from the back. She had silver hair.”

  Claire’s heart dropped like she’d just gone over the top of a rollercoaster. Stepping slightly into the park, she looked at the exact spot she’d seen Rina yesterday.

  “She was right here,” Claire said. “Rina. She was leaving the park, but that was near ten. She told me she was there to meet Mark, but that she couldn’t find him. She didn’t mention anything about going to the park with him earlier. This doesn’t add up.”

  “Are you saying it was Rina?” Damon asked in a quiet voice. “I’m confused.”

  “So am I,” Claire replied, eyes clenched as she forced her brain to think. “We’re missing something. If Rina followed Mark to the park – pardon the rhyme – around seven, why was she still there at ten?”

  “Maybe they spent a few hours talking?” Damon suggested. “And besides, she couldn’t get away with stabbing Mark in the daylight. The sun sets so late these days.”

  “The park was pretty empty,” Ryan offered. “I lapped the whole thing before he bumped into me, and the only other people I saw were a group playing bowls on the top green.”

  “But why at ten?” she mused.

  Claire’s phone, still on silent, vibrated once again in her pocket. She pulled it out, but when she saw it was her mother, she declined the call – whatever it was, it could wait. She needed to think.

  “We could talk to Fergus at the B&B?” Damon suggested.

  “Oh, have you met him too?” Ryan asked. “I stopped to tie my shoelaces in front of the gate, and he dragged me in for tea. Showed me his collection of Do Not Disturb signs. Bit nutty, isn’t he?”

  “Nutty, absolutely,” Damon agreed. “But he strikes me as the type who knows the comings and goings of his guests. He might be able to tell us if they were both out that whole time? And if they were, Claire, you’ll know for certain that Rina lied to you.”

  “She’s been lying about one thing or another since she got here,” Claire said, compressing her lips in a tight line. “What’s one more?”

  They retraced their steps back down the small row of shops, turning down the same alley Ryan claimed to have seen Mark and Rina burst from. As they walked under the glow of the bright streetlamp that kept peeking through Claire’s rubbish curtains, she glanced up at her bedroom window. Domino watched on with little interest from the windowsill. They emerged on the other side, the B&B in view.

  Claire’s phone rang again. Her mother.

  “Little busy. I’ll call you back,” Claire said, answering and hanging up in a matter of seconds, without giving Janet a moment to speak. “She’s probably discovered a new microwave cookbook recipe that ‘I must try at once!’”

  They found Fergus sitting at a white, wrought-iron patio set in the middle of the B&B’s tiny garden. He’d brought his tea-making contraption out with him and was currently sipping a cup while reading from a tiny vintage paperback.

  “Look who it is!” Fergus announced, slotting in his bookmark. “I was just enjoying some Miss Marple with the summer evening air. We must enjoy it while we have it. Tea?”

  “Thank you, but not tonight,” Claire said, deciding she’d be best to lead the conversation. “We were hoping you might be of help.”

  Fergus slapped the book on the table and hurried over to the gate. “I’m all ears.”

  “Yesterday around seven,” she started, “did you notice Mark and Rina leave the B&B?”

  “Notice?” Fergus’s voice dropped to a whisper as he glanced back at the building. “Oh, her light isn’t on. I could have sworn she was in, but I have been pretty lost in the lovely world of St. Mary Mead for much of the evening.”

  “Rina, by any chance?”

  “Yes.” Fergus looked up and down the street. “Now, I won’t have it said that I’m a gossip. I don’t usually listen in on the happenings of my guests, but they made it rather difficult to ignore.” He glanced back at the B&B. “I was in the back room tinkering with my toaster when I heard an almighty blazing row. I couldn’t make heads nor tails of it, but I concluded that one of them must be a psychic.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because they kept talking about tarot. Tarot this, tarot that.”

  Claire and Damon glanced at each other as though they were the psychics who picked up the same thought.

  “Could it have been Taron?” Claire suggested.

  “Perhaps.” Fergus scratched at his head with a single finger. “Whatever it was, they stormed out, one after the other. I know it was just before seven because I was waiting for Emmerdale to start.”

  “And did either of them come back?”

  “The tall lad never did,” he said, tapping his chin. “Rina came back about fifteen minutes after. She had a really long bath, and I only know that because one of my other guests complained about having to go all the way to the top floor because she couldn’t get in on hers. Shared bathrooms, you see; the previous owners never saw fit to install en suites.” A car drove behind them, and Fergus paused until it had passed. “I didn’t see her again until around five to ten. This time, I was waiting fo
r the News at Ten. She popped her head in and asked if the park closed its gates at any specific time. I told her I didn’t know but I’d make sure to find out, and then she left and I didn’t see her again until breakfast this morning.”

  “They keep them open,” Claire informed him. “And you said you don’t think she’s in right now?”

  “Let me check.”

  Fergus scurried into the B&B, leaving the three of them by the gate. The silence said more than Claire could as the details slotted into the right places. The car that had passed them drove back in the opposite direction, but this time, its brakes screeched to a halt.

  “Claire Harris!” Janet cried as she slammed the car door behind her. “That is the last time you put the phone down on me!”

  “I’m in the middle of something, Mother.”

  “The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know.” She marched right up to Claire and demanded, “That Japanese girl. Where is she?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

  “Well, you might want to go in the opposite direction.” Janet inhaled deeply through her nostrils. “I was emptying the kitchen bin, and the bag split open all over the kitchen, and do you know why?”

  “Cheap bags?”

  “As if I would. There was a giant knife in the bin,” she hissed, “and it was covered in blood!”

  “Are you being serious?”

  “Would I make up such a thing? The police are there right now, treating my poor kitchen like a crime scene, all because you brought a criminal into the house. You know what this means, don’t you? She did it, and I wasted my best biscuits on her!”

  Fergus hurried down the steps from the front door, still alone.

  “She’s not here,” he said. “All of her things are still here, but she isn’t.”

  “What do we do?” Damon whispered to Claire.

  Claire looked around the village, but she hadn’t the slightest idea where to look for Rina.

  “The only thing we can do,” she said with a gulp. “We go to the police.”