TICK TOCK RUN (Romantic Mystery Suspense) (2 page)

“One, two, three,” Laura said.  We licked the salt, knocked back the shots, then sucked on wedges of lime.  My whole body quivered at the sharpness in my mouth.

Laura screwed her face up and stuck her tongue out.

We stepped away from the serving area, but soon got railroaded back near the entrance door where we were standing earlier by a gang of men who were leaving.  We lingered, glad of the blast of fresh air when they pushed the door open. 

Laura removed the Dictaphone that was hanging from a cord around her neck.  She placed it over my head.  “Here, you wear it.  It’s annoying me.”

“Cheers,” I muttered.  “This was a stupid idea of Emma’s.  Where are all the free drinks she said we’d get?”

Laura laughed.  “We got served fast, so it did that at least.  Or maybe the barman fancies you.”

I rolled my eyes and thought,
don’t go there.’

“A toast to Daryl.”  A man behind me said during a song change.  I turned and watched him lift his beer glass skyward.  “You’ll be sorely missed, mate.” 

I traded a curious look with the guy I’d crashed into earlier.  He was also raising his glass.  His mousy fringe of hair fell low enough to tickle his eyelashes, and he had a tired-looking face - although not from age, something else. 

I felt obliged to speak, having been caught staring.  “Is this a leaving do?” 

His Adam’s apple slid up and down his throat.  “Actually, my brother died.”

Way to put my foot in my mouth.  “Sorry to hear that.  It’s just that this is a party venue, so, I didn’t expect...” 

He wrinkled his nose and shrugged.  “My brother liked this place.  That’s why we’re in here.  He wouldn’t have wanted us to mope.”

I smiled in sympathy while wishing I could suck my words back in, then turned to see who was sliding down the dance pole.  Megan stepped up next.  Jeered on by the crowd, she leapt up high and grabbed the silver pole with one hand.  I waited to hear a thump, hoping she’d have a soft landing.  Beer and ten-foot dance poles don’t mix.

“I heard he went crazy,” a man blurted out from the troubled-looking group behind me.  “Trashed his flat.  Bashed the computer.  It looked like he’d been burgled.”

Another man from the group said, “Closed casket.” 

Goose bumps popped up on my skin.

“His death was an accident, wasn’t it?”

“That theory doesn’t wash with me,” the brother rasped.  “I hoped you guys could help me understand.  Perhaps I’ll do some more digging around, when I get my head together.  I intend to find out why he sent me this.”  They dropped into a sombre silence.

I wrenched my attention away and focused on Laura.  I hoped she hadn’t listened.  Death didn’t sit well with her, not since her parents died so tragically at the end of last year.  I hooked her arm.  “Come on, let’s join the others.”

Laura stopped dead and yanked me back.  “No way.  I’m not going anywhere near that pole.”

I stood on someone’s foot with my heel, heard an ‘ouch,’ then felt something hard bang onto my toes.  The end of my ponytail poked my eye as I looked down.  I spotted a mobile phone at my feet.  After rubbing the throb out of my toes, I picked the phone up.  There was a text message lit up on the screen.  It didn’t take more than a second to recognise the words on the first line.  I released a tense breath. 

It read: ‘Tick, tock.  My number’s up.’ 

“What the f…”  My bottle slipped from my other hand and smashed on the floor, showering my feet with beer and splinters. 

Laura touched my arm.  “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t answer. 
Why are the words from my creepy email staring back at me from some stranger’s phone?

“Is it broken?”  The brother of the dead guy held his palm out. 

I stared up.  My mouth part open, I locked my gaze on his chestnut eyes.  “What’s this message about?”

He took the phone out of my grip before I could read the rest.  “Wish I knew.  My brother sent it to me.”  He paused, leaned in and lowered his voice.  “Just before he died.”

“No way!”  I flinched, but tried to hide it.  “What does it mean?”  I wound my ponytail around my fingers, and endured several seconds of extreme impatience.

“Not sure.  But I intend to find out.  Something’s amiss.”

I stopped fidgeting, and fixed my gaze on his, not liking the way he’d said that.  “Is it a mail shot or something?  Do you know of anyone else who’s received the same message?”

He shook his head then shrugged. 

“Who is your brother?  Where did he get that phrase from?  Was there a—”

“Slow down.”  He patted the air with his hand.  “I don’t know why I’m telling you about my problems, but anyway, I came here tonight to question Daryl’s friends.  Turns out they don’t understand this message either.  What’s it to you anyway?”

Laura tugged the back of my dress.

I nudged her away, hooked my handbag strap over my shoulder, and pointed at the mobile in the guy’s hand.  “It sounds weird, I know, but I received a message identical to that, earlier today.”   For him to be discussing this with me, a mere stranger, there must be weight behind his concerns.  It put me more on edge.

His eyes widened with interest.  “You did?”

I recalled the countdown timer from my email, and the sound as it beat out its rhythm of ticks through the speakers.
  Maybe I’m just a bit paranoid, today.  A
fter all, I’d been on tenterhooks for the better part of the year, worrying about Laura, and was still annoyed about the scratch on my car.
  This is a misunderstanding. 
“Yes, I did.  But, I’m sure it’s not the same message.  I mean, that one’s not abusive, right?  Can I read it again?”

“It isn’t abusive.”

Relief washed over me.

“Not unless you class the word ‘slag’ as insulting.”

“Slag?”  My wave of relief broke into anxiety.  I squeezed my handbag so tight I thought I’d crush my mobile.

“Yes.  That’s why I don’t think the message was
directed
at me.  Daryl would never call me such names.”  He angled his head my way.  “Are you feeling all right?”

I rubbed my temple, wanting to erase this bizarre conversation from my brain.  “This is all very odd.” I paused to give a little laugh.  How eerie to end up in the same bar as this guy.  I glanced around and muttered, “I wish someone would let me in on the joke.” 

A hot, fevered stare tightened his eyes.  “I don’t see the joke.  My brother sent me a strange text, and then he wound up dead... only hours later.”

Hours later?
  His words caused my breath to catch in my throat.  “Sorry.  That came out wrong.  It’s just, the word ‘slag’ was also in
my
message.  And to be honest, the only reason I’m asking you about it, instead of partying with my friends, is because I found the whole thing to be quite... creepy, after my car got keyed.”  I pointed at his mobile.  “I mean, that couldn’t possibly have anything to do with—” I broke off, aware that my question would sound like that of a crazy person.

He ground his jaw.  “Did you know my brother?”

I shook my head.  The name Daryl didn’t strike me as familiar.  Laura’s earlier comments jumped into my mind.  “Does that message mention anything about a countdown timer?  Could he have been warning you about a computer virus doing the rounds?  You know, something that kicks in after a time limit?”

“A time limit?  You’re not making sense.  Are you drunk?  Breathe in a second and let this lady pass, will you?”  He slid his hand gingerly around my waist and pulled me close, jamming the Dictaphone between our chests.  The lady passed and Lee backed away.  Then he stared down at my fake reporter badge.  He harrumphed, then clamped his lips together.  They almost disappeared.  “You’re a reporter?  That recorder had better not be switched on.”

I covered my badge.  “No.  It’s a ploy.  My friend’s attempt at getting us free drinks.”

His lips twisted to one side. 

“I swear.”

He leaned backwards as though I were breathing out germs.  “We have our wires crossed.  My brother wouldn’t act in such a way over a computer virus, and his car’s about the only thing that
is
fine.  The only time limit round here is your editor’s deadline.  Now, I’d better get back to my friends.”

“No.  It’s...  Wait.  Act how?” I asked, realising I’d lost his interest.  He downed the last of his drink while I thought about things.  No timer.  Perhaps he was right.  It wasn’t the same.  How cruel of me to question this poor, grieving guy on a drink-fuelled whim. 

He waved his empty bottle at a friend.  On moving away, he said, “Alarmed, paranoid, jittery.  How’s that for your headline?” 

CHAPTER 2

T
he doorbell chimed through my house.  I closed my vampire novel, jumped to my feet and headed down the hall in my dressing gown.  I opened the front door to Laura.  “Hi.  Come in.  How did the rest of the night go?” 

“Totally embarrassing.”  Laura rubbed her bloodshot eyes.  “I couldn’t believe it when I got your text.  I needed you to rescue me from the sleazy stripper, not desert me.”

“I really am sorry.  After I came home to change my dress, the taxis were all booked up and I couldn’t get back into town.”

A few seconds later, Emma staggered through the front door.  I didn’t need to ask if they’d stayed out late, their puffy eyes were answer enough. 

Emma flopped onto the sofa in my dining room.  “You’d have loved it last night, Chelsea.  It was wild.  My head’s banging this morning though.”

“Give me a minute.”  I dashed upstairs to wash and dress, then returned feeling refreshed.

Emma yawned before speaking.  “Jayne took loads of photos.  I told her to email them to you this morning.  Print them out and we’ll head to town for a bite to eat.  I’m starving.” 

“Sounds great.”  I handed the Dictaphone back to Emma, then booted up the computer and logged into my emails while my friends sighed and groaned on the sofa behind me.  “Found them.”  I sent the photos to print, then deleted all the spam mail without reading a single one.

“Why did you leave?”  Emma asked.  Her eyes were closed at this point.

“I’d been chatting to a guy about my strange email, when my dress got totally soaked in beer for the second time by some lunatic who—”

“What email?”

While the printer growled, throwing out photo paper, I opened the old email and pointed to the screen. 

 “What is it?” Emma asked, snapping forward from her hangover.  “What’s that ticking noise?” 

“A countdown timer.”

Emma moved and stood behind me, resting her chin on my shoulder.  “
’Your number’s up.’ 
What on earth does this mean?  Oh my God!  Who’s calling you a slag?” 

Exactly what I wondered
.  “A man in the pole-dancing bar mentioned the same phrase.”  I swivelled my chair to face Laura.  “Laura thinks it’s a virus.  You heard that guy talking about his brother’s text message, didn’t you?”

She shook her head and dug around inside her bag.

“People have to pay for what they’ve done,” Emma read out loud, pointing at the screen.  “Look, even your full name’s been included, Chelsea.”

“Yeah.  I know.”  I stared at Laura, puzzled by her disinterested face.  “You were standing right behind me Laura.  You must have heard.”