Chapter 2
My focus glues itself to the man as he goes straight to Margie. The tension he rattles with seems at odds with the smart clothes he wears. I imagine usually, he walks into a room and commands it with his aura alone. Now, the only thing filling the air is his nerves.
‘Margie, can I have a word?’ he says. His voice is stripped so bare by raw emotion that my skin prickles.
Glancing up from the coffee machine, Margie nods. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I was just – it’s – have you seen Alexa?’
Margie blinks, dressing her features in an expression that looks like concern, but I know her too well to believe it’s genuine.
‘Alexa?’ she echoes. ‘No, dear. Not for a while. Why?’
The man swallows. ‘She’s – she’s not at home. She’s not been there since Saturday.’
I raise my eyebrows. So does Margie.
‘Saturday?’ she asks. ‘Today is Monday.’
‘I know, that’s why I thought I’d ask if you knew where she was, what with… well, you know,’ the man replies, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.
‘She’s not at the B we’ve said hello, but that’s it. Otis is the friendlier of the two. A nice man, by all accounts.’
‘Doesn’t everyone say that about the husband? Then they find the body,’ Natalya mutters, then she shakes her head. ‘Sorry, I know I sound like Margie. It’s just writing 101, isn’t it? Don’t trust anyone or what they say. Although in a village like this, everyone knows everyone’s business anyway.’
‘You never know anyone’s business, not truly,’ Katherine replies. ‘Alexa Clarke is the perfect example of that. I’ve seen that woman around countless times, yet I only recently found out that she’s lost four babies in the last two years.’
My head snaps to face Katherine as if I’ve been slapped. ‘Alexa miscarried four times?’
Katherine nods, her features melting with pity. ‘They say she’s devastated. It’s put a terrible strain on her marriage. No wonder she’s taken the odd night at the B&B to escape it.’
As Natalya makes sympathetic noises, the blood drains from my body, taking with it all assurance that I can get through the rest of the day without falling apart.
‘She lost the first six months into the pregnancy,’ Katherine adds with a shudder.
‘It doesn’t even bear thinking about. Apparently, Alexa is desperate to start a family.
She left her job, changed her diet, did everything she could, but it still hasn’t happened for them.
Can you imagine how awful that must be?’
I can’t bring myself to respond, but Natalya can. ‘She must be in so much pain. They both must. I’ve heard all sorts about the Clarkes,’ Natalya says, biting her lip. ‘There’s talk of Otis being involved in dodgy business, not to mention the rumours about him cheating.’
‘That’s what I’ve heard, too,’ Katherine says.
‘I’d hate to believe it, of course. They both seem like good people who are going through a hard time.
It all started with the losses, apparently.
They say Alexa couldn’t face it anymore.
That she hates being in that house with the reminders of what she’s lost.’
‘Maybe that’s why Otis hasn’t called the police,’ Natalya theorises. ‘He knows Alexa needs a break and left to get one. But I still don’t get why Alexa would leave without telling him where she was going.’
Kathrine shrugs. ‘People don’t always think straight when they’re grieving. We don’t know Alexa’s state of mind.’
‘But if she’s going through all this and no one knows where she is, then Otis should definitely go to the police. I mean, what if she’s hurt herself?’
I jolt at the thought, but Natalya and Katherine are too engrossed in their conversation to notice.
‘Do you really think she’d do that?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know,’ Katherine replies. ‘But one thing I’m sure of is that Alexa Clarke needs help. Or, at the very least, a hug.’
We each get lost in the shadow of Katherine’s words until Natalya sighs.
‘I wish we could help, but we’re not Janine,’ she says. ‘We don’t have the skills to solve a missing persons case like she does.’
‘Good point,’ Katherine replies. ‘I’d have thought you’d practically be a detective by now with all the research you’ll have done over the years, S. K. Atherton.’
I open my mouth to reply, but Natalya groans. ‘I hate research. Why can’t we write whatever we want to progress the plot?’
‘Because then our books wouldn’t be realistic, and the basis of all books is reality,’ Katherine replies. ‘Even fantasy novels come from somewhere. Think of all the medieval and political references.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise there were dragons in medieval times.’
I take a drink, pretending to listen to Katherine and Natalya debate realism in writing, but my mind is with Alexa Clarke, wherever she may be.