Chapter 14
Susan
Thursday
“So, was it an affair, do you reckon,” Leesa asks when I finish retelling the story, “or a one-night stand?”
I shrug. “Who knows, but it’s not my business and, honestly, I’d never have wanted Celeste to find out.”
“Except for the bit where you’re the one who told her…”
I’m mortified all over again, thinking about the message, and how Celeste must feel to discover so publicly that her husband is cheating.
“Does that mean Celeste sent you the threatening text?” Greta muses, fishing in her bag for one of her tablets.
I don’t know how she remembers what to take when, but Greta is a machine.
She researches, listens to medical advice, sees her GP regularly and takes anything and everything that will help.
I’m the kind of person who buys a pack of multivitamins, takes them twice, then forgets again till they’re out of date.
“I don’t know if she’d resort to anonymous texts.”
“OK, what about the other person in the love triangle—Aimee?”
“She seemed very nice…”
“You think everyone is nice,” Greta mutters. Her tolerance for other people isn’t quite as high as mine.
“What if it’s Aimee’s husband,” Leesa says. “What if she’s married, and now her husband knows something happened at the bar opening and he’s the one sending death threats?”
“I didn’t use her name in the message…”
“But you said”—Leesa scrolls on her phone—“ ‘wrapped around the PR girl at the opening party for Bar Four.’ ” She looks up at me. “There’s enough there to identify her. Assuming there was just one PR there?”
She’s right, and I feel sick. My throwaway bitchy comment could be affecting two marriages.
Greta squeezes my arm. “It’s worded as though it was all Warren. You didn’t actually say what you saw in the storeroom. So it could be explained as just a bit of one-sided flirting, couldn’t it?”
I hope she’s right.
“Should we talk to the PR—Aimee?” Leesa asks. “Sound her out, see if there’s any chance she’s the one who sent you the threatening text?”
Greta purses her lips. “Shouldn’t we leave all this to the guards?”
“We could just get a vibe,” Leesa says. “We’ll know from talking to her if it was her or not.” She turns to me. “Do you know her surname?”
“Nope.”
“We could try her sister, who works in Bar Four.” Leesa’s on her feet, looking at her watch. “It’s just after half ten, the bar will be opening, we’ll get coffee.”
“Hang on.” I wave for her to sit. “I’m in enough trouble already—this doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
“I’ll do the talking. I’ll say a friend of mine needs PR and remembers the bartender’s sister from the opening. Come on.” She’s off her seat again.
I contemplate that for a moment. If we don’t say anything about the message or why we’re really there, it probably can’t do any harm…I look down at Bella in my arms.
“What do we do with Bella, and don’t you have to work?”
“Bring Bella. It’s a gorgeous day. And I’m not working till two.”
Greta will leave us to it, she says; she’s heading down to the hockey camp. So Leesa, Bella and I, with Bella in a sling, set off for Bar Four.
· · ·
Inside, the bar is dark, with scant sunlight slipping in through the half-open door. A man in a white shirt is polishing glasses behind the bar and he looks up at us.
“What can I get you, ladies? Coffee machine’s just warming up.”
“Lovely,” Leesa says chirpily. “Two cappuccinos, please, and is Venetia in this morning?”
His face falls. “Ah. Venetia’s not in. She won’t be in this week at all. There’s been a…a bereavement in the family.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Will she be back on Monday, do you think?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” He hesitates. “It’s her sister who died. You know the story in the news—the couple who were murdered?”
We are both frozen into silence. The barman continues when we don’t respond: “It was Venetia’s sister and the sister’s husband.”
“Aimee?” Leesa manages. “Was that her name?”
“That’s the one. Dreadful thing. Not far from here—down the N11, one of those new developments in Cherrywood. Just shows, even when it’s somewhere nice and safe…” He shakes his head.
I need to sit down.
The barman looks alarmed. “Sorry, love—you’ve gone a bit pale. Did you know Venetia’s sister? Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything…” He starts filling a glass of water.
“I didn’t know her, not really.” I lower myself on to a chair, cradling Bella in the sling. “I…I just met her at the opening of the bar.” An image flashes through my mind, Aimee and Warren in the stock room. The husband and the PR girl. And now one of them is dead.