Her Sister’s Secret

I could have asked him to reconsider his decision, to change his mind and come back with me right now, this minute, but knew it would only make us both angry. I had to face it. Even an event as momentous and monstrous as the sudden death of our sister was not going to drag Zach home, or turn him into the prodigal son.

He slung an arm around my shoulder, clumsily drew me close and kissed the top of my head and walked me to the van. “Give my love to Mum and Dad.”

I gave it one last shot. “Think about coming home, Zach.”

He looked down, scuffed the dry ground with a bare heel, kicking up dust. Not a chance in hell, I thought, climbing into the Transit and bumping back along the drive.

Chapter 7 (#ulink_9be40d91-7a53-55bc-8958-80aca7880162)

Dispirited, I turned onto the main road and, after a few miles, pulled over into a lay-by from where I called Nate. My brother-in-law and me had always got on.

“Nate, I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing you can say. I can’t believe it. I mean what the fuck? Straight road. Glorious day.” There was a long pause. “Jesus,” he said with a hollow laugh that battered the metal walls of the van, “me an atheist and I actually prayed and pleaded for her to pull through.”

“I’m so terribly sorry.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. When he did his voice was all twisted up. “But Molly, how are you doing?”

To be fair, I didn’t have the words to adequately and accurately answer his question. Most of me was in denial. I mumbled clichés about expecting this kind of thing to happen to other people. “Is there anything I can do for you, Nate, anything at all?”

“Be good to see you.”

“What about your parents? I don’t want to tread on anyone’s toes.”

“They’ll go home. Mum, well, you know, her intentions are good, but what with the police updating me every five seconds, I need time to think and process and—” Nate broke off. At first, I thought he was crying, then realised that something was up. “Actually, I really need to talk. In confidence.”

“How about I drive over after I’ve finished up here? About sixish?”

“That would be good. I’ll see you then.”

I strained every sinew to focus on the road. What did Nate want to tell me in confidence? Was he going to reveal how upset Scarlet had seemed a few days ago? Was he going to ask me why? A fresh wave of shame flamed my cheeks.

I reached Lenny a little over an hour later. Single-handedly, she’d shifted all the furniture from upstairs. Stacked. Packed. Ready to roll. Red-faced and done in, she stood with her back to the wall.

As I slid down from the van, she walked towards me, solemn faced, with open arms. “Your dad phoned. I’m so sorry, hon.”

Solid, dependable, anarchic Lenny enveloped me in a sweaty embrace. A tight dry sob I’d bottled for hours escaped from the back of my throat.

I clung on, loss excavating a hole through my heart. I’d never dealt with this kind of news before. Scarlet gone. Scarlet dead. A moment longer and I’d start bawling and never stop. To head it off, I said, all business, “Could you run me home, then bring the van back to load up and take it to Flotsam?” This was my shop in Malvern Link. “I’ll pay you extra, of course.”

“No way,” she said, as we clambered into the van. “And don’t worry about the shop this week. I can handle it.”

A day ago, it would be unthinkable for me to consider relinquishing control. Now it didn’t matter.

I stared out of the window, remembering me and my big sister at my first pop concert; both of us poring over wedding dresses; a pub lunch when I’d shaken the ketchup and the top hadn’t been screwed on properly and sauce flew all over Mum and we’d cackled with laughter until we were nearly sick. Happy days. Light days. Would I ever feel that carefree again? As stuffy and hot as the day was, I suddenly felt as cold as winter. Lost, I could make no sense of anything.

We pulled up outside my house. “Any particular jobs that need to be done this week?” Lenny said.

I shrugged my shoulders. I still had Mr Noble to contact, I vaguely remembered. He’d have to wait. I had one concern only and it wasn’t to clear my conscience. I needed to understand what the hell happened on that road this morning.

Chapter 8 (#ulink_fa136566-2020-51e5-912f-24f74093cc45)

Glad to reach home, I escaped inside and closed the door on a world that I no longer recognised. Ugly. Dysfunctional. Desolate.

A wave of hunger grabbed my stomach and I realised I hadn’t eaten all day. Not really fussed, I browned a thick slice of bread in the toaster, smothered it with peanut butter and ate standing up, mindlessly viewing my accrued possessions. A sucker for old things, the interior was really an extension of the contents of the shop. Most people didn’t have a vaulting horse planted in their living room.

All set, my mobile rang from a number I didn’t recognise. Normally, I’d reject calls like this, but these were strange times and I answered it.

“Molly Napier?”

“Yes?”

“Rocco Noble.”

Rocco? The only other Rocco I’d heard of was Madonna and Guy Ritchie’s son. Noble, oh yeah, the client I should have phoned. Scrabbling, I said, “I owe you a huge apology. I should have got back sooner, but I’ve been overtaken by events.” I winced, mortified. What would Scarlet think if she knew I’d referred to her death as an ‘event’?

“All good, I hope,” he said cheerily. He had a nice voice, rich and low. I pegged him about my age, maybe a bit older.

“Actually, not. My sister was killed in a road accident this morning.” I cringed. How could I be so indiscreet and reveal something this personal to a stranger, in a business call, no less?

Judging by the stunned silence that followed, Mr Noble appeared to agree.

“Hello, you still there?” I said.

The unmistakable click that signals a caller hanging up asserted otherwise.

I stared long and hard at the screen. Screw you, I thought, weirdo.

“Your 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.”