WILL TIME WAIT: Boxed set of 3 bestselling 'ticking clock' thrillers (28 page)

W
hen Jess raced
to the downstairs toilet, sick from too much booze, I pulled Laura through the
hall to the dining room and shut the door behind us. 

A
deep furrow appeared on her forehead.  “Now tell me about this bag.”

I
wanted our lives to return to how they were a week ago.  I knew that
wasn’t possible and that I was about to toss a firecracker into Laura’s dark
world, because, suddenly, I could sense it deep in my gut.  Mark had caved
in to my demand
too
easily.  Something else felt wrong.  “The
purple rucksack is in your garage.” 

Now
Laura was squeezing my arm.  “Are you sure?  Is it really my bag?”

“I
haven’t seen inside, but it looked like yours.  It can’t be a
coincidence.”

Laura
rubbed the back of her neck.  “So, you think Mark’s returned the cash?”

“Let’s
not get excited just yet.  I’ll sneak into the garage and get the bag.
 Meet you back here in a few minutes.”  I slipped outside, bursting
with impatience. 

“Hi!”
A voice from the footpath startled me.

I spun
around, spotted Laura’s Aunt Carol walking up the driveway.

Of
all the times to show up!

Unfortunately
for Laura, Carol lived only a couple of streets away.  She was only ten
years Laura’s senior, yet looked much older with clown-bright badly applied make-up. 
The tatty unbuttoned leather jacket did her no favours on the age score, nor
did it conceal her breasts which looked ready to spill out of her low-cut
top.  But at least they were still inside her top, today, well, for now.

“Hey. 
Erm, does Laura know you’re coming?”

“Thought
I’d surprise her.”  She glanced around the cramped driveway.  “Glad I
did.  Is she having a party?”

“No,”
I said, quickly.  “The neighbours are.  She’s... umm... given them
the use of her drive, that’s all.”

Carol
walked towards the house and smiled, revealing red lipstick traces on her front
teeth.  “I’ll pop in and say hello, seems as I’m here now.  She
should be celebrating, last night as a single woman ‘n’ all.”

“No!” 
If Laura’s aunt placed even one toe over the threshold and got a sniff of the
booze inside, the evening could become more unpalatable than it already
was. 

We
came together in the middle of the drive and I blocked her way.  I hooked
her arm like I would a best friend, and slyly steered her in a half-circle until
her back faced the house.  “Laura doesn’t want any visitors.  She’s
having an early night.  Hell!  She’s even kicked me out!  I
think we should leave her to it, don’t you?  Give her some ‘me’
time.  She’s probably in the bath by now.”

“I
just want to talk to her.”  She tried to push my hand away but prodded
me. 

“Ow! 
Careful,” I said.

“I’ve
done something stupid.”

A
heady whiff of alcohol blew onto my face.  “Then don’t do anything else
that’s stupid.  Go home and sleep it off.”  I winked.  “I won’t
tell Laura, if you don’t.”

“I’ve
brought her a gift.”  Carol waved a white lace garter under my nose. 
“Every bride needs one of these to get the groom’s juices flowing.”

Oh
my Lord!  I struggled to imagine a more embarrassing type of
relative.  If Laura even made it to the wedding reception, I’d have to
conjure up a plan to keep Carol off the dance floor before she started swinging
from chandeliers.  “It’s a pretty garter.  Just what she needs. 
But give it to her in the morning.”  I closed Carol’s palm around the
garter and walked her down the drive.

“I’ll
pop over again later,” she said.  “When she’s out of the bath.”

“No,
you won’t.”

“Yes,
I will.”

“No! 
You bloody won’t!  Go home.  Drink coffee.  Sleep.  Don’t
come back until tomorrow!”  I shoved her off the drive.  I felt
incredibly rude, but letting her get more sloshed in front of Laura, today of
all days, would be another bitter lump we could do without.  After she
wobbled, clearly offended, out of sight to walk home, I unlocked the garage,
raced to the cupboard and lifted out the rucksack. 

Back
in the dining room, my heart beating fast, I set the bag on the table. 
The zip rasped when I slid it along.  My hand shook, scared of what I’d
find inside, and scared of what I wouldn’t. 

Laura
tiptoed into the room and pushed the door shut.  “So, what have you
found?”

 “Let’s
see.”  I upturned the bag and shook it.  A handful of cash, a
disposable razor, knickers, red rose petals, my missing eighth steak knife and
a creased photo tumbled onto the wooden table. 

Laura
flattened the crumpled photo with her palm, then staggered back. 
“Jesus!  That’s a picture of me and Daryl.”

I
traced my finger along the bumpy photograph.  Among the many creases,
there was a cut in the paper across Daryl’s head.  But it was clearly him.

“Lee
was right.”  I stared at the red petals, thought about the roses which
Mark had sent to Laura the other day.  “Mark really is the one doing
this.”

“Where’s
the rest of the cash?  The coins?”

I
roughly counted the money.  Little more than five hundred in notes lay on
the table.  Loose change from thirty-five thousand.

“This
could be a down payment.”  I tried to make sense of it.  “We didn’t
give him much time to return the money.”

 “So
this proves it really is Mark who’s blackmailing me.”  Laura smiled,
punched the air, then squashed my cheeks together and kissed my face. 
“You did it, Chelsea.  You’re amazing.  That photo with the doll did
the trick!”

Far
less animated, I said, “It was Lee actually, but anyway, let’s think about how
to handle this.”  I didn’t feel amazing.  In fact, I couldn’t believe
it, but knew it must be true.  Two people I’d dated since the end of last
year had caused whopping great problems in Laura’s life.  Carl and the car
crash, Mark and blackmail.  Me plus a man, any man, equalled
trouble.  End of.

Laura
danced up and down.  “It’s over, Chelsea.  I can’t believe it. 
Let’s drag Mark in here and confront him.  Jeez!  I really thought he
was a nice guy.  I can’t believe I’ve been so blind.”

Laura
continued celebrating, bobbing on the spot and grinning.  After I caved in
and gave her a high five, she stopped jumping and looked at the table. 
Her eyebrows shot up.  “Holy cow!  Are those my knickers?”  She
checked the label. 

I
stared at the black, Agent Provocateur panties with my mouth agape. “Perhaps
it’s more than a crush.  Mark’s a pervert with some obsessive
jealousy.  Even Paul agrees he’s got the hots for you.  He came to my
house a few days ago and asked my opinion.”

Laura
clamped her cheeks between her palms.  “Paul knows that Mark likes me?”

“Yes.”

“Christ!” 
Laura shuddered then looked down at the table.  “Oh, I can’t the bear the
thought of Mark fingering my underwear or going through my drawers.  What
a sleazebag.”

I
snatched the knickers, intending to hide them behind my back to make her focus
on me, but caught the photo as I whisked them off the table.  The picture
floated down to the floor.  It landed on the reverse side, revealing the
hotmail address ‘no fool,’ written in black, scrawny handwriting, and the words
‘tick tock’ smeared in what looked like blood.  I stuffed the knickers in
my back pocket and picked up the photo.  

“What
have you seen, Chelsea?”

I
flipped the photo around.

Laura
squealed.  “Yikes!  Is that blood?”

It
stained my finger when I rubbed it.  “It’s sort of greasy. 
Lipstick.”

“Who
wrote the email address?” Laura asked. 

Her
answer left no reason to ask if she recognised the child-like handwriting.

I
placed the photo on the table, then fingered through the bag contents
again.  “It’s like a collection of clues pointing to himself.  Why
would Mark do something so stupid?”

“Mark’s
crazy.”

“Cash
is one thing, but this…  He may as well just sign a confession.”

“Again,
Mark’s crazy.  He must be.”   Laura pulled out a dining chair
and plonked herself down on it. 

I
tapped my lips with a finger.  “Did you phone Mark’s office to ask if he
was at work when we dropped the money off?”

“Yes. 
The receptionist said he was in meetings all morning, and finished work around
lunch time.”

I
glared at Laura.  Mark had an alibi.  “So how could he be in two
places at once?”

She
shrugged.  “He must have an accomplice.  Whatever, Chelsea. 
Come on.”  She tugged my sleeve.  “Let’s get this over with and confront
him.”

The
feeling that something else was wrong, circled me like a faint smell of gas
when I hadn’t yet realized someone was about to strike a match. 
“Something’s off.”

Laura
narrowed her eyes.  “I don’t like the way you said that.”

 “I
was sitting in the kitchen, in clear view of the hall after I threatened Mark
with that photo, right?”

She
nodded.

“But
Mark didn’t go out the front door.  So how did he stash this bag in the
garage?”

Laura
dragged both hands down her face.  “I don’t know.  Perhaps he put it
there earlier.  Who cares?”

“No. 
That means he put it there before we threatened him.”  I scratched my
forehead.  “Something else is confusing me,” I said.

“What
now?”

“Mark
shouldn’t care about deleting the photos from my mobile.  If he’s left
this evidence for us, he should have realised his mistake.  These items
could send him down for blackmail.”  I locked my questioning gaze on
Laura.  “And why would he steal
your
phone?  How can he
communicate about the next money drop?”

“He
was probably too pissed at us to care which phone was which.  Maybe he
thinks I won’t dare take this bag of evidence to the police, in case Paul finds
out what I did.”

“So
he’s playing another game?  Giving you the option to convict him, but at
the expense of losing Paul?”

Laura’s
lips jutted out.  “Perhaps.”

Confusion
tensed my muscles.  “No.  I don’t buy it.  Mark looked genuinely
shocked by my blackmailing him with that photo, didn’t he?”

“Most
people would be.  You’ve turned the tables on him.  So what?” 

“So,”
I shot back at her.  “Why would he be shocked?  Surely he’d expect us
to make some sort of move?  After all, he knows us pretty darn well.”

“True.”

I
had missed something, taken the wrong turn somewhere and ended up stuck in a
ditch of confusion.  “Mark’s played us well… until now.”  I paced
between the table and conservatory door.  “So why let us find these items
that could send him to the slammer?  And if he’s got the hots for you so
badly, why blow his chances with you, by letting you know it’s him?”

“Maybe
he doesn’t realise you’ve found the bag?”

I
was trying to wrap my head around my questions when a shiver crawled up my
back.  Well, a shiver would have been a huge understatement.  It was
more like a long slithery creature had borrowed my spine to use as a
ladder. 

“I
texted him.  Mark definitely knows I found this bag,” I said with
conviction.  “So surely, by now, he’s realised he’s screwed up.”

“I
guess so.”

I
waved the rucksack in the air.  “Then why isn’t he panicking?  Why isn’t
he running round your house, tearing it apart like a madman who’s got a live
firework in his pocket, searching for
this,
rather than that
photo?”  I dropped the bag on the table, grabbed a few of the items and
waved them at Laura.  As I let go, a blemish on the photograph of Daryl
caught my eye.  The photo was creased and slit, but one of the lines on
the left side was not a crease, but a scratch, like a line on an antique
photo. 

I’d
seen that somewhere before.

I
’d been so busy
keeping the problem under wraps, that I’d failed to notice the obvious. 
“This rucksack was placed in the garage in order to be found.”  I lowered
my voice.  “But not yet.”

She
leaned into me, parking her nose at the side of my face.  “Chelsea, what
are you saying?  You’re scaring me.”

It
was as if I’d just looked at the clues through a high-density flat
screen.  Everything became instantly sharper, clearer in all its sordid
glory.  “I know who it is.”

She
gasped.  “Who?”

I’d
gotten Mark all wrong.  His only fault was being in love with Laura. 
I hesitated to say the unthinkable.  “It’s not Mark.”

“Oh! 
Thank goodness for that!  Because he’s such a great guy and if it wasn’t
for Paul then maybe—”

“It’s
Paul!”

“Say
what?”  Laura jerked away from me.  “Shut your mouth, Chelsea! 
It’s not.  It’s not.”  She grunted, grabbed the rucksack and tried to
rip it in half.  A second later, she launched it across the room, and then
kicked a chair onto its side.  Her burning stare made her look ready to
tear strips off me next.  “What the fuck did you say that for?” 

I
stood my ground.  “Because it’s true.”  I should have guessed she’d
go nuts. 

Paul’s
name fit snugly in the puzzle, like picking the correct jigsaw piece to
complete it. 

She
shoved the petals up to my face.  “News flash.  Mark admitted to
sending the flowers.”

I
chewed my lip.  “That camera Jayne used to take photos on your hen
night.  You told me it was Paul’s.  How come you gave his camera to
her?”

“It
looked like the sort a reporter would use.  So what?”

 “There’s
a scratch on the photo in my purse.  A photo taken using that camera on
Saturday night, and—”

“And
what?”

“And
the same scratch is on this one, too.  Look.  And the photo that was
pushed through my letterbox had been trimmed to a square.  I bet it was
cut to rid of the scratch on the edge.”

“You’re
reaching.”

“Am
I?  So, Paul just... let you borrow the camera?”

She
hesitated then shook her head.  “He didn’t need to.  He bought a new
one the other week.”

“Laura. 
Did Paul
let
you—“

“All
right.  All right.  I took it out of the bin.  Didn’t even think
the damn thing would work.”

“Oh,
Christ!”  I let my head loll into my hands.  “He thinks he threw the
proof away.  He doesn’t know that we can link the scratch on this photo to
him.  I’m telling you, he’s trying to shift the blame onto Mark. 
That’s got to be it.  Paul must have found out that Mark was Daryl’s
psychiatric patient.  That links him to Daryl, and could make Mark look
unstable.  I bet that Paul’s setting Mark up as punishment for lusting
after you.”

When
I looked up, Laura had pressed her palms over her ears and was screwing her
face up.  “Stop talking like this, Chelsea.  I’m warning you!”

“I’m
not finished.”  I tugged her hands down.  “Paul wasn’t asking for my
opinion that day he turned up on my doorstep.  The clever son of a
bitch.  He wanted to ensure I know Mark has the hots for you so I could
back up his fake story.  Plus, everyone knows Mark’s not my number one fan
lately.  It kind of makes sense that he’d try to scare me, except he
wouldn’t.  He’s not like that.  Mark’s the perfect fall guy. 
It’s quite genius.”

Laura
banged her fist on the table.  “This is total crap.”  She pointed to
her engagement ring.  “Look at this rock.  Paul loves me.  We’re
in
love.”

“Love
is why he’s done this.  That’s what he thinks he can hide behind.” 
My words just hung there without sinking in. 

She
turned towards the door.  “I’m not listening to any more of this
horseshit.  Which nuthouse did you escape from?” 

I
grabbed her hand and battled to turn her round to face me.  “Don’t go out
there!  We need a plan.”

Her
lips broke into a wobble.  “How can you say all this?  How can you
stand there and accuse the man I love?”

I
leaned in and brought her face within an inch of mine.  So close that she
looked bug-eyed.  Short on time, I ran through the obvious.  “Just
hear me out.  Who would be upset enough about you having an affair, to
risk jail?”

“No. 
No, you’re so wrong, it’s laughable,” she said, but tears were now thick over
her eyes.  “We’re crazy about each other.  We’re going to start a
family.  Paul’s even got a list of baby names.” 

There
was no way of breaking the news delicately.

“Who
would know how much cash you can get your hands on?  Know that I’d show
you my emails?  Know our schedules each day?  Access my house
keys?  Know that you’d not dare involve the police?  Paul probably
read all your texts and kept tabs on us all week.”  I waited for her
reaction, watched the horror build like steam in a pressure-pot. 

She
didn’t speak.

“He
involved me to confuse us.”  I squinted at the ceiling.  Was I
missing something?  “Or perhaps he blames me, too?  Thinks I covered
up your affair, or something.”

Laura’s
nose wrinkled.  “What?  Oh, this is total bollocks, Chelsea, and you
know it!”

 “Whatever
the reason, his plan worked, until we found this bag,
too early
.”

Laura’s
face flushed red.  “Paul wouldn’t do this.  He just doesn’t have it
in him.  He loves me.  I’m his sweetheart.”

The
word ricocheted inside my head.  “Did you say ‘sweetheart?’”

“He
loves me.  That’s what he calls me.”

I
took a deep breath.  “Well he wrote that in a text I received
earlier.  Mark would never call anyone sweetheart.”  I gripped her
shoulders.  “Oh, Christ, Laura.  You’ve blown Paul’s world apart and
he’s out for revenge.”

She
shrugged me away.  “Bullshit!” 

“He
knew you’d pay rather than lose him.  Maybe Paul intended to do something
else with this bag, scatter the evidence around, plant it at Mark’s
house.  Either way, the stuff inside is to give us someone to blame after
he ditches you tomorrow when the truth comes out.”

“Shut
the hell up!”

“Even
the puzzles in the emails,” I said, and I struggled to stop my voice from
shaking.  “Mark’s obsessed with puzzles, and Paul knows it.” 

“Paul’s
hired his suit, invited his friends, got our plane tickets for the honeymoon in
his top drawer.  He wouldn’t do all that for no reason.”

Poor,
deluded Laura.
 
“It’s a cover.  He wants to take your inheritance money and leave you
stranded, humiliated at the altar.  Those are the two best ways to hurt
you, aren’t they?”

“Stop
this now,” she yelled, pointing at the door.  “I’m not speaking to you
anymore.  Get your bags and get the fuck out of my house.”

“No. 
You’ll Goddamn stand here and listen.”  I yanked her arm.  “What
would Paul do if he came face to face with someone you’d been having sex with
behind his back?”

She
scowled.

I
tugged her arm again.  “Laura!  What would he do?”

Grunting,
she said, “You know what he’d do.  Same as most guys, rip his Goddamn head
off.  Now let go of me or I’ll do it to you.”

I
snatched up the photo from the table, thrust it towards Laura’s face, stuck my
finger through the slit in Daryl’s head then wiggled it at her.  “This is
a clean cut, see?”  I set the photo on the table and slammed my fist down
on it. 

Laura
flinched.

“Paul
stabbed it.”

“And
what if he did?”

“And,”
I fired back.  “It’s his way of saying he did ‘rip’ Daryl’s head
off.  I bet you everything I own that Paul blackmailed Daryl… then killed
him.”

Her
eyes flared wide with rage.  “Take that back!”

“No.”

Whack! 
Laura’s knuckles slammed into my cheekbone.  My head jolted to the
left.  I staggered.  Water trickled from my right eye.  “What
the?”  I gasped, cupping my hot cheek. 

“Oh,
Chelsea.  I’m sorry.  I don’t know what happened, I…”  She
reached out to stroke my face. 

I
swatted her hand away, clenching my fist ready to strike back.  After the
week I’d had, it would have been easy to punch her in the nose.  It would
have felt great.  I stopped myself, then couldn’t, and slapped her across
the face.

“Hell!” 
She pressed her palm to her cheek and winced.

“You’re
lashing out at the wrong bloody person,” I said, my voice hollow speaking
through one side of my mouth.  “Just think about it.  You’ve probably
done the only thing that would make Paul flip.  Reminded him of his
painful childhood, of his mum’s infidelity.  Let’s not forget you’ve got a
pre-nup.  For God’s sake, Laura, of course he’d go for the money!”

Laura’s
gaze dropped quickly.  When I saw tears spill over her bottom lashes, I
knew the truth was finally soaking in. 

“It’s
just not possi…” she said, in a thin voice.  “He doesn’t act any
different.”   Her expression flicked like a photo album through
anger, shock and then disbelief, until finally, her jaw flopped down. 
“Oh, God.  No!”  Tears flowed like a bust damn down her face. 

Seeing
Laura’s heartbreak threw a second of doubt my way.  I didn’t take accusing
her fiancé lightly.  I remembered Paul’s reaction to the texts from the
so-called blackmailer.  He acted angry at first, accepted Laura’s
explanations easily, then soon forgot about it - just like he did over our
fight with Mark in the hall.  He couldn’t risk questioning Laura
too
heavily.

“Was
Paul ever near you when you received a text message or a demand, Laura? 
Do you know for certain that Paul’s even been to work this week?”

Her
sobbing grew louder, which I took as a ‘no’.

“I’m
so sorry, Laura.  But you know I’m right, don’t you?”  I saw it in
her wet eyes.  “Your fiancé is blackmailing you, and he killed
Daryl.  Lee’s been right all along.” 

Laura
seemed to struggle to even lift her head now.  She did her best to breath,
seemed to choke on her heartbreak. 

However
much I wanted to hug her, there was no time.  “Now let’s get ourselves,
and the girls, the hell out of here before he realises we’re onto him.”