Dead in the Water (Scarlet Cove Seaside Cozy Mystery Book 1) Read online

“I went to a normal primary school in Manchester, and the local comprehensive,” she said. “I got okay grades when I left school, but I failed French.”

  “It is very difficult,” Christopher said with a nod. “Although I picked it up quite easily.”

  Liz widened her eyes as she looked back at the menu. She was glad it was not an official date because if it was, it would not be going well. She wondered if Christopher could even hear himself talking sometimes.

  “No university education?” he asked.

  “I have a first class degree in fine art from the Manchester Metropolitan University. Although that feels like a lifetime ago now. My parents wanted me to study law, but it never interested me.”

  “Ah, law,” Christopher cried enthusiastically. “Now that is a solid profession.”

  “You sound just like my parents,” she said with an uneasy smile. “They’re both lawyers. They wanted me to follow in their footsteps, but it was never my calling.”

  “So, you followed a career into the arts?” he asked, raising a brow slightly. “How rebellious of you.”

  “Actually, my career took me into the police force,” she replied, feeling herself getting increasingly irritated by his tone. “I was in the Greater Manchester Police for fifteen years.”

  Christopher’s head recoiled a little, his toothy smile growing wider as his eyes narrowed curiously.

  “A lady police officer?” he replied with an amused smile. “I would never have guessed.”

  “I was a detective,” she said, her tone flat and her lips not returning his smile. “That’s all in the past now.”

  “Why would you leave such an honoured rank?”

  Liz opened her mouth to reply, unsure of what she was going to say, glad when she saw Daniel hurrying across the restaurant with a bottle of wine. She suddenly sat up straight and smiled at the owner as he approached Christopher with a look she was sure was terror.

  He opened the bottle and poured a little sample into the glass. Christopher swirled it around under his nose before slurping a little. He swished it around in his mouth for what felt like a lifetime before he nodded. Daniel let out a relieved laugh as he filled up their two glasses.

  “Oysters!” Daniel exclaimed after hurrying back with a silver tray. “Give me a shout when you’re ready to order your main course.”

  Liz thanked him with a smile before looking down at the tray of oysters, which had been served with lemons and mignonette sauce. Her stomach turned at the thought of them, but up close, their slimy bodies looked even less appetising in their dark grey shells.

  “Do you like oysters?” Christopher asked after picking one up and slurping it down in one gulp. “If I could eat them every day, I would.”

  “I can’t say I’ve ever had the privilege,” Liz mumbled as she poked the soft middle with her knife.

  “Pick it up, lift it to your lips, give it a little chew, and then swallow,” Christopher said before repeating the action. “I only farm and harvest the finest oysters.”

  Liz picked up the shell, unsure of how her evening had taken this turn. She thought about her freezer full of microwave meals at the flat, and they suddenly did not seem so unpalatable.

  “Cheers,” she said with a tip of her head as she lifted it to her lips.

  As instructed, she tossed the oyster and its slimy liquid into her mouth. She chewed the body a couple of times, which had the consistency of an overcooked boiled egg. She quickly swallowed it and placed the shell back on the tray.

  “Well?” Christopher said, edging forward across the table. “Aren’t they delicious? They’re aphrodisiacs, you know.”

  “They taste like the ocean,” Liz said as she rubbed her tongue against her palette. “I’m not sure if they’re for me.”

  “Maybe they just take some getting used to. I’ve had them since I was a child, so I’ve always liked them.”

  “What kind of child eats oysters?” she asked with a chuckle.

  “A Monroe child,” he replied seriously. “When you’re surrounded by as many cooks, nannies, and private tutors as money can buy, you find you gain an appreciation for the finer things in life.”

  “Sounds like you had a busy upbringing.”

  “It was incredibly lonely.”

  Christopher’s expression dropped, the veneer sliding away for the first time since Liz had met him. It bounced back in a moment, and after a sip of wine and another oyster, he was back grinning at her like a deranged puppet.

  “Were you an only child?” she asked.

  “I have a sister,” Christopher said. “I think when my parents had one of each, they decided they had the perfect family on paper, not that they were around much.”

  “That sounds so sad.”

  “It wasn’t for them,” he said vacantly as he picked up another oyster. “Skiing in Aspen, cruises around the Caribbean, safaris in the Serengeti. They did it all and saw it all, while we were –”

  “At home in the mansion with the nanny?”

  “You guessed it,” he said with a sad chuckle. “Enough about me. What about you? It must have been interesting growing up with lawyers as parents?”

  “Interesting is one word for it,” Liz said as she reached out for the wine glass, something that had become a habit whenever she talked about her parents. “I felt like a constant disappointment. They hated me wanting to be an artist, and they hated me even more when I wanted to be a police officer. I think that made me want to do it even more. They got what they wanted with my little sister, Lacey, though. She followed them into law. She’s a top environmental lawyer in London. I think she’s happy, so that’s all that matters.”

  “And now you’re about to open your own shop,” Christopher said, tipping his glass to her. “That’s something to be proud of.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  He chinked his glass against hers and shot her a smile that almost made him seem human. She had not thought much about her parents when it came to the shop. She had only told them when it was too late to back out of anything, not that they would have tried to stop her. They had given up trying to mould her life a long time ago. They had not agreed with her career, or her marriage, so she knew they were not about to agree with her running away to the coast to pursue her passion.

  When they were finished with the oysters, Daniel returned to take their orders. Christopher ordered grilled salmon with buttered asparagus and garlic new potatoes, but Liz kept it safe and ordered fish and chips, which caused Christopher to arch his brows again.

  “Can you believe I’ve moved to the coast and I haven’t had any fish and chips yet?” she said, almost defensively. “It’s almost criminal.”

  “You’ve been busy putting together your shop and getting drenched in water from burst pipes,” Christopher reminded her. “Did you call the plumber?”

  “He was around within the hour when I mentioned your name, and Bob said he’ll cover the costs, so there’s no harm done.”

  “It’s nice to know the Monroe name still carries weight in this town,” Christopher said proudly. “Even if it is just my sister and I now.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “They’re not dead,” he said quickly. “My mother and father retired to Australia a decade ago. I haven’t seen them since, but they call once a month to check if I’m married yet.”

  Christopher sipped his wine as though that was a normal conversation to have with one’s parents when they were halfway across the globe. Liz’s parents called as often, but they usually kept their conversation to trivial matters to avoid arguments.

  “I’m sure they’re proud of you running your fishing business,” Liz suggested, as she looked around the full restaurant, glad that interest in her presence had subsided. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve built quite an empire.”

  “They think working is common. They gave me enough money in my trust fund to never need to work again, but I always enjoyed fishing, so I bought the business when it came up for sale.�
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  “Did Frank come as part of that deal?” Liz asked, eager to find out even more about the dead fisher. “I heard the men in his family had been fishers for generations.”

  “I got Frank and his father when I took over things. They were great at what they did, but they didn’t share my vision. They didn’t think the business could be any bigger than it was, but I always saw the bigger picture. Things got easier when Frank’s dad died about eight years ago. Frank didn’t kick up too much of a fuss when I started to change things and hire more people. I think he liked it just being him, but I promoted him to head fisher to soothe his ego. It wasn’t a real title, but I let him choose who he hired and fired. The thing about Frank was that he was very particular about who he worked with. Adam was the latest in a long line of failed apprentices, which was why I wasn’t surprised when he fired him the day before – well, you know what happened next.”

  “I heard that Adam and Mandy might have been having a love affair?”

  Christopher smirked as he sipped his wine. Daniel hurried over with their food and left them to eat in peace.

  “You’re fitting into Scarlet Cove quite well, I see,” Christopher said as he cut his asparagus. “Adam is a child, and Mandy wanted to get at her father. She’s a beautiful girl, but she’s difficult. It had the desired effect and drove her father to his death.”

  “You think Mandy was only with Adam to wind her father up?”

  “What else could a twenty-seven-year-old see in a nineteen-year-old boy?” Christopher paused to put a tiny piece of salmon into his mouth, which he chewed slowly and delicately before continuing. “Adam was like the son Frank never had. I think Frank felt betrayed, but who’s to know what the man was thinking when he decided to get drunk at work.”

  “You still think it was an accident?”

  “You don’t, Detective?” Christopher asked with a small roll of his eyes. “The only suspicious thing here is that Frank was drinking on the job. I should have fired him months ago. He was getting worse and worse. It was a blessing in disguise. I can hire someone competent to do his job now.”

  Liz tossed a chip into her mouth, wondering how Christopher could be so cold about the death of a staff member. Even she was not being that detached, despite not knowing the man. They ate the rest of their food in silence, which seemed to suit Christopher. He kept his elbows off the table, did not talk with his mouth full, and wiped his lips in between each mouthful. She wondered how he could have the energy to make eating look so uptight.

  When Liz finished, she leaned back in her chair as she pushed her food away. As fish and chips went, it was probably the best she had experienced. The fish had been perfectly flaky, the batter rich and crispy, and the chips had been fried so delicately that they remained fluffy beyond their golden crunchy exteriors. Topped off with a healthy dose of salt and vinegar and good wine, it was the perfect fish and chip supper.

  Liz stared out of the window at the moonlight’s reflection on the surface of the dark sea, knowing there was nowhere else she was going to get fish as fresh as here. Even though she did not take many risks with her food, she would like to think she could make her way through the rest of the menu to see what Scarlet Cove really had to offer.

  Liz was about to ask Christopher what he recommended she try next, if only to keep the conversation flowing until dessert, but a scuffle at the bar in the corner caught her attention, as well as that of everyone else in the restaurant.

  Liz watched as Daniel tried to steady the drunken man, who looked like he was refusing to leave. Her police training kicked in right away, and she had to force herself to hold onto her seat rather than rush over and make a fool of herself.

  The man fell off his stool and turned to face the restaurant with blurry eyes. Even behind his drunken state, she could tell he was embarrassed. Liz recognised the man as the one she had seen Laura speaking to outside the cabaret bar during her walk down to the harbour.

  “Is that Michael?” Liz asked.

  Christopher stopped checking his teeth in the reflection of his knife. He turned awkwardly in his chair to glance at the bar in the corner.

  “Poor man,” Christopher said with a nod as he turned back. “Must have been kicked out of the Fish and Anchor.”

  “Does he drink a lot?” Liz asked.

  “Only since Laura left him.”

  “I thought they were still friends?”

  “That’s what Laura wants to think,” Christopher said with a small shrug. “I think it makes her feel a little better about dumping him for Frank. He makes sure she never sees him like this, but word must get back to her.”

  Liz watched as Michael stumbled to the door, slurring his apologies to everyone in his line of sight.

  “Quite improper,” Christopher said with a shake of his head.

  The rest of the meal went by without incident. They had dessert, and despite Liz assuming Christopher would pay, which he tried to, she insisted on paying half.

  After a small walk along the seafront, they headed up the twisting and winding narrow streets towards Liz’s shop. They barely spoke a word to each other.

  “Thank you for the roses,” Liz said, knowing it was the polite thing to say. “They’re lovely.”

  Christopher smiled down at her. He suddenly closed his eyes and leaned in, his lips pursed. As soon as Liz realised his intentions, she turned her head and inhaled the roses again, his lips brushing awkwardly against her ear.

  She watched as Christopher opened his eyes, and she had to face his obvious embarrassment at being rejected.

  “I’ll see you later,” Liz said quietly, pulling her keys from her jeans pocket. “Thanks for dinner.”

  Before Christopher could say another word, she slipped into her flat, locking the door behind her. She dropped the roses to her side and rested her head against the door. She let out an exhausted sigh, having felt like she had been holding her breath for most of the night. She heard a similar sigh coming from the other side of the door.

  8

  With a collection of her best work under her arm, Liz set off to Nancy’s gallery the next morning. She walked into the foyer, pleased the first face she saw was Nancy’s, sitting behind a mahogany desk. An antique green lamp and a bromeliad plant in an orange plant pot decorated her workspace.

  “Liz!” Nancy beamed, jumping out of her seat and closing the magazine she had been reading. “What a nice surprise! What are you doing here?”

  “I thought I’d show some of my work to the owner.” Liz nodded awkwardly to the canvases under her arm, suddenly unsure about how she had chosen to spend her morning. “My work has never been shown in a gallery, but I thought it was worth a shot.”

  “The dragon is busy showing some dealers around,” Nancy whispered, glancing down the oak corridor. “She should be done soon. Can I have a look? You haven’t shown me what you can do yet.”

  Liz gripped the paintings closer to her body. It was not that she did not want to show Nancy her work, but her painting had been a private thing for so long, it felt weird to show someone she considered a friend. Nobody at the station had known she painted, except for Miles, who had always approached her passion with mild curiosity.

  “I guess so,” Liz said with a nervous smile. “I’m no Van Gogh.”

  Nancy darted around her desk, glancing down the corridor again. She held her hand out, so Liz selected one at random. Nancy looked down at the painting with a tilted head, her silent observation unsettling Liz.

  “You’re far too modest,” Nancy beamed, holding the painting of a forest at arm’s length. “This is really great. You clearly have a talent. Why don’t you have a wander? You might bump into the dragon on your way around.”

  Liz left Nancy to her magazine. She took herself and her paintings down the corridor and into the main gallery. She did not know what she had expected from a gallery in Scarlet Cove, but this was not it. The floor was made completely of white marble, which glittered under the domed skylight in the
ceiling. The white walls stretched up high, down-lit paintings in gold frames scattering the walls. Liz looked down at her own work, which was nowhere near as classical in style as the stuffy oil paintings she was faced with.

  “Can I help you?” a stern voice asked, dragging Liz away from the painting she had been inspecting.

  Liz turned to see a smart looking woman with strikingly blonde hair scraped back into a bun. Her grey eyes blazed against her naturally bronzed skin, which was free of makeup, but was so taut and smooth it did not need any. She was wearing a pressed white blouse, which was tucked into a calf-length pencil skirt, and finished off with black stilettos. She towered over Liz, who was used to being the tallest in the room.

  “I’m Liz,” she said, not as intimidated by the woman as much as she suspected she should have been. “I’ve just moved here. You might have heard? I’m opening an arts and crafts shop.”

  “I haven’t heard anything,” she said with a subtle arch of her neat brows.

  “I think you’re the first person to say that,” Liz said, forcing a laugh, hoping to lighten the mood, but the woman’s face did not crack. “I’m an artist, and I thought I’d drop by and show you some of my work.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because this is a gallery.”

  The woman huffed and rolled her eyes, glancing at the stack of canvases under Liz’s arm. She suddenly moved them back, regretting her decision to turn up unsolicited.

  “I suppose you should follow me,” the woman said with a strained smile, turning on her heels and marching back the way she had come. “Quickly. I haven’t got all day.”

  Liz hurried after the woman, now knowing why Nancy constantly referred to her boss as ‘the dragon’.

  She followed the woman down the corridor, jogging to keep up. She made walking in a pencil skirt and heels look easy. Even at the station, Liz had always opted for trousers and flat shoes. She had never understood why women tortured themselves by choosing style over comfort.

  They reached a door labelled ‘Katelyn Monroe – Gallery Manager’. Liz wondered how common the Monroe name was in Scarlet Cove.