Molly didn’t say anything to Jack. There was no point in worrying him about her suspicions, especially since, she admitted with a shrug, they were so changeable. In the morning, she’d ring the inspector. Maybe by this stage he’d have more information to put her mind at ease.
They sat at the table to have their meal. Molly pushed food around her plate, trying to hide the fact that she’d no appetite. Looking across the table, she realised Jack had eaten even less. She opened her mouth to plead with him to tell her what was wrong but closed it again. Her brain was still too fuzzy, she couldn’t deal with any more. ‘I’m really not very hungry,’ she said, pushing her plate away. ‘I think I’ll head to bed.’
Jack pushed his barely-touched plate away. ‘I’m going to watch TV for a while. I’ll sleep in the spare room so’s not to disturb you when I come up.’
She stood and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Goodnight,’ she said, unable to stop the grimace as she straightened.
‘You should take one of the painkillers the hospital prescribed. Where are they? I’ll go and get one for you.’
She shook her head. ‘I put them in the bathroom cabinet. I’m not keen on taking them, Jack, they made me feel quite disconnected. The pain isn’t that bad, really, I’ll take a couple of paracetamols.’
He didn’t look convinced. ‘Promise me you’ll take the stronger ones during the night if you need them.’
‘I promise,’ she said with a smile and headed off. He didn’t need to know that she never wanted to take a tablet again, not even paracetamol. The pain would ease when she was lying down. It didn’t, in fact, it was worse, but she decided she preferred the pain to the grogginess she remembered from earlier. She knew she was being silly, but her life was in such turmoil, she needed to keep as clear a head as possible.
Lying there, she listened to the distant murmur of the television, the sounds from the street outside, trying to concentrate on them rather than going over and over the events of the last few days. The fear had eased but she knew it was lurking, ready to strike. A smile curved her lips when she heard Jack’s step on the stairs. He was trying to be quiet, but he never remembered the fourth step that squeaked despite several carpenters’ attempts to fix it.
A hush settled over the house. From outside, there was still the muffled sound of the odd car passing that the triple glazing couldn’t quite mute, a comfortable city sound that usually helped her drift off to sleep. But tonight it wouldn’t come. Her brain might be mush, but it was restless mush. Had Amelia tried to poison her? She’d certainly felt worse after the tea, groggier, more disconnected. And there was Amelia’s surely overdramatic reaction when she’d opened the door. Maybe, she hadn’t expected her to appear.
Molly stared at the ceiling. Would Amelia really have risked killing her in her own home? Surely not. But a thought struck her as she closed her eyes. Amelia hadn’t been expected. If she’d succeeded, nobody would know she’d been there and Molly’s death would have been seen as a delayed reaction to the accident.
It was strange how perfect clarity seemed to come in the middle of the night as if, with all the external distractions gone, everything could slot into place. It was Amelia. Molly was sure of it.
An hour later, clarity had become fuzzy. After all, if they found her dead, they’d do a post-mortem and whatever weird drug she’d given her would show up, wouldn’t it? Maybe there were drugs that didn’t. She’d no idea. Anyway, what possible reason would her friend have for killing her? Exhausted, Molly fell asleep, unsure of anything.
She was surprised when she woke to find it was almost nine. There wasn’t a sound in the house. Jack had probably gone to work. No doubt he’d looked in on her and saw she was asleep. He wouldn’t have wanted to disturb her to say goodbye. Turning, moving very slowly, she slid out of the bed. She kept her right arm close to her damaged rib, relieved it was less painful. Pulling on a robe, she put her mobile in the pocket and crossed the landing to the spare bedroom. The door was open, the bed empty.
Downstairs, she found a note propped against the coffee jar. I looked in on you and you were out for the count. Hope you have a good day. I’ll ring later. Rest!
Smiling, she crumpled it, threw it into the bin and reached for her phone. Two minutes later, after an embarrassing phone call to Dawson Marketing to explain that she had been in an accident and wouldn’t be in for a few more days, she hung up and checked for messages. There were three: one each from Remi and Freya, and one from Amelia.
Her children sent the usual messages of reassurance. They were having a great time. Some part of her world was ticking by the way it was supposed to.
Over a breakfast of toast and coffee she read the one from Amelia. There was nothing worrying in the short message, hope you’re feeling a little better, I’m here if you need me. Molly put the phone on the table beside her and sat a moment with her brow furrowed before reaching for it and pressing the speed dial key for DI Fanshawe.
‘Fanshawe.’ His voice was deep, calm. Reassuring.
Molly felt herself relax. ‘Detective Inspector Fanshawe, it’s Molly Chatwell.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Chatwell. I hope you’re recovering. What can I do for you?’
She took a deep breath and let it out noisily. ‘Amelia Lovell came around yesterday,’ she said, keeping her voice steady with difficulty. ‘I think she may have tried to kill me again.’
Molly expected a quick response, horrified words, sympathy. Instead, there was a long silence. ‘Inspector, did you hear what I said?’
Did she imagine it or was the tone of his voice less friendly? ‘Yes, I heard you.’ There was another brief silence before he spoke again. ‘It’s probably better if I come and see you.’ There was the sound of muffled voices, the clunk as a drawer was shut, a rattle she couldn’t identify, and a deep indrawn breath she certainly could. ‘I’ll call this afternoon, about four.’
He hung up before she could argue. She glared at her mobile and dropped it on the sofa. Four… a whole day to get through. She’d have a shower and get dressed, cling to the normality of routine. Her phone beeped as she reached the door. She turned with a grunt, wanting to ignore it, incapable of doing so. Then she was sorry she hadn’t. It was a text from Stuart Mercer.
We have to meet. ASAP.
A long groan escaped her. This was too much to take on now. She tapped out a short message, I’m afraid not, then deleted it and wrote, Meet you tomorrow in Casper’s. At eleven? She pressed send and stood waiting for a reply. It came within seconds. See you then.
She was probably crazy to go; she gave a quick laugh – certainly crazy to go to Casper’s but it was the first name that had popped into her head. Or maybe it was a touch of bravado. She wasn’t sure. Anyway, it would be good to forget about her mixed-up life for a while and focus on Jack’s problems. He had been so understanding, she owed him. Hopefully, Stuart would be able to tell her what was going on.
If by sorting out whatever was troubling Jack would help him completely forgive her, that was okay too.