Her Sister’s Secret. E. V. Seymour
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mother won’t come out of the bedroom.” Dad sat in the conservatory, hopeless and lonely. “How did Zach take it?”
“Upset. I’d hoped he’d come home but—” My voice died away.
“Zach is Zach. He’ll be here when he’s ready.” He stared blindly out of the window at the garden.
“Have you talked to the police?”
“I’ve put calls through to Roger Stanton, the SIO in charge.” Senior Investigating Officer. “Nothing yet. I phoned the garage where Scarlet rented the four-by-four and put them in the picture.”
“How did they take the news?”
“Someone’s death normally trumps business interests.”
“Of course.” I cleared my voice. “Will you be all right, only I thought I’d swing by Nate’s.” I couldn’t mislead my father, although I mentioned nothing about confidences. Didn’t breathe a word about my bad vibe concerning Zach either. Dad had more than enough to deal with.
“Tell Nate we plan to leave here about ten tomorrow.”
To lay flowers, I remembered, the prospect unnerving. “I’ll be there.”
“And if there is anything I can do for him,” he said, trailing off.
“I’ll let him know.” I kissed my dad’s cool cheek and turned to leave.
“Molly?”
“Yes?”
He tore his gaze away from the garden and looked up at me with solemn eyes. “Any news from Nate, about what happened, I’d be grateful to hear.”
I read disbelief and unease in his expression. While denial was entirely natural – I shared it too – Dad’s instinct, sixth sense, whatever you wanted to call it, mirrored my own. A tragic accident it might have been, but there had to be more to why Scarlet came off that road. If I were wrong, I’d be the first to gladly embrace it.
I pushed a smile. My father had no idea how committed I was.
Scarlet lived – had lived – off the trendy Bath Road in Leckhampton. The road was more congested than usual and the side streets chock full of cars. A tricky place for parking, I found a spot outside an electrician’s from where I walked around the corner.
As soon as I pushed open the gate, the front door cracked open. For a second, I imagined Scarlet standing there with a big warm smile and my heart caught in my rib cage.
“Hello, Nate.”
A million miles away from the mousse and moisturiser guy I knew, he stood on the threshold like a man who’d emerged from a war zone. His hair was lank, jaw dark. Against prison pallor, deep shadows loitered underneath his hangdog eyes. He looked as if he needed a blood transfusion. He wore an old T-shirt over three-quarter length shorts. Both had seen better days. He grabbed hold of me, and we squeezed the life out of each other. Eventually, he pulled away. “Drink?” From the smell on his breath, I guessed he’d already started and was probably halfway through a bottle of neat spirit. Couldn’t blame him.
“A small one. I’m driving, remember.”
For a second, he blanched as though I’d made a joke in appalling taste, and then seemed to pull himself together.
I followed him down the short hall to the heart of the house, a stylish kitchen diner and family room with WOW factor; Nate’s and dad’s first project. Helplessly, my eyes zeroed in on the white and grey noticeboard that Scarlet told me had cost a small fortune. A mini home office, it paraded invitations, reminders and recipes, most of it written in my sister’s organised handwriting. A sudden surge of tears threatened to catch me unawares. I bit down, choked it off.
“Wine or beer?” Nate said.
“Beer, please.”
Pulling up a bar stool, all cream and Italian leather, I sat down at the counter while Nate fixed my drink and topped up his own glass with whisky.
“What’s this?” I picked up a navy-blue folder with ‘Brake’ written on the front.
“A support pack. Someone dropped it off. As if that’s going to help.” Nate’s tone was bitter.
I nodded sympathetically, glanced around the room which, usually so tidy, was a mess. My expression must have given me away because he said, “I’ve been searching for the bracelet I gave Scarlet for Christmas.” Three carat diamonds set in gold; it had cost a small fortune. My sister had been knocked out when she discovered the price tag on-line. It had cost the thick end of four grand. As much as she loved it, she thought it too lavish, which was typical of her. Why the hell Nate was hunting for it at this precise moment beat me. For sentimental reasons, or something else? Except I couldn’t think what the ‘something else’ was.
“Turned the whole house upside down,” Nate complained.
I tried to mute any reaction to what seemed a strange obsession, given the circumstances. “Maybe she was wearing it.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not at work.”
“Want me to take a look?”
He hitched his shoulders in a ‘knock yourself out’ gesture.
I left Nate nursing his drink and stepped out into the narrow hall and up the tight staircase to the main bedroom. It felt weird walking around Scarlet’s home when she was no longer there in person, and there were reminders of her existence everywhere.
Nate had already searched Scarlet’s jewellery box, judging by the lid flipped open, but I dived in anyway. The contents consisted of earrings, a couple of dress rings and a charm bracelet Mum had given her when she was twenty-one. Much luck had it brought her, I thought stonily, as I turned my attention to the drawer beside her bed that disclosed nothing of importance. A rummage through the wardrobe yielded a similar result. The only marvel was how neat and tidy everything looked. Not a shoe out of place. Best clothes contained in those fancy covers you pick up from the dry cleaners. Everything reflected my sister’s ordered and tidy mind. If anyone was accident proof, she was. Or so I’d stupidly believed.
Back out on the short landing, I hung over the banister and called out to Nate.
“Did you check the spare bedroom?”
“Found nothing.”
“Mind if take a look?”
“No, go ahead.”
Small and sparsely furnished, a double bed consumed one wall. A lonely chair crouched in the corner. With no room for a wardrobe, a built-in cupboard provided storage. Inside, winter sweaters and boots and six handbags. I tore open each, turfed them upside down, unzipped the pockets and ran my fingers inside. Ostensibly, I was looking for a bracelet. In reality, I was searching for clues that would explain why the most sorted woman I knew had taken her eyes off the road and crashed in the sunshine and wound up dead. In truth, I also sought absolution.
I piled everything back in the cupboard and, dragging the chair across, stepped up onto the seat so that I could reach the top shelf. Two colourfully decorated storage boxes contained photographs, scarfs and hats. I smiled as I picked out the mad fascinator that Scarlet had worn for her hen night. I didn’t bother with a plain box marked ‘Nate’s crap’. Of the bracelet, there was no sign. Nothing weird or out of place either.
Setting the chair back, and about to head out to the landing, I spotted a navy rucksack hanging loosely on the back of the door. It wasn’t really Scarlet’s style, but I lifted it off to take a look. There was no phone in the designated zip up section and the main compartment was empty apart from a small pack of unopened tissues. Plunging a hand into an interior section, I grazed something the size of a receipt or car parking ticket and fished it out. Torn from a lined jotter, a scrap of paper, with writing on it. I stared at a London address in a hand I didn’t recognise, a name below read: ‘Charlie Binns.’ Neither meant anything to