You Can Trust Me (26 page)

“Whoever it was knows me,” I say, the full weight of what that means dawning. “He killed Julia and he wants me to back off and if I don't, he will come after me and … and…” I point to the piece of paper with the colored wooden letters, unable to put into words my fear that this man may hurt not only me but also my children.

“Okay.” Damian blows out his breath. “Okay, let's think rationally about this.” He pauses. “Do you have any idea who could have sent that, who he is?”

“No, of course not,” I say.

Damian meets my gaze. “Do you think—? Is there any chance it could have been Will?”

“No.” I stare at him. “No way.”

“How can you be so sure? He has more access to your kids' things than anyone else.”

I press my hands together, trying to find the words to explain. “Will might have had an affair—a whole string of them,” I say slowly, “but he couldn't have killed Julia. Or anyone. And he would never hurt me.”

Damian looks at me. I can see the questions my denial leaves unanswered tumbling through his head:

What about finding Julia's stolen ring in Will's toolbox?

What about Shannon Walker being hired by Julia to entrap him?

What about all Will's lies?

There's a long pause. The air around us is suddenly stifling.

“It wasn't Will,” I insist stubbornly.

Damian still looks skeptical.

“Seriously,” I go on.

“Okay, so what do we do now?” Damian asks.

I look around, my skin crawling with fear. Are we in danger right now? On this quiet, leafy street, that seems impossible. Thank goodness the kids are at Mum's.

I hold up the piece of paper with the
STOP
letters. “Being sent this means we must be getting close to the truth about Julia's death, don't you think?”

“Yes.” Damian takes a deep breath. “So, like I said, what do you want to do?”

“We could tell the police,” I say.

Damian frowns. “What? That someone sent you a few pieces from an old jigsaw puzzle?”

“A puzzle from my own house.”

“It doesn't mean whoever sent it killed Julia.” Damian pauses. “What we really need is to find Shannon. She's the key to all this.… She can tell us what Julia found out … why Will's name was on the Honey Hearts form … give us something more concrete…”

“We have only one clue,” I say. “That word she wrote down by her bed: Magalan.”

“Have you remembered where you heard it before?”

“It was something Julia said. I can't remember exactly what.…” I hesitate, unsure.

“Maybe it's a surname?” Damian suggests. “How about an ex-lover? Or … Christ, d'you think it could be the name of the person who killed her?” His eyes are strained and anxious. He's clutching at straws. Again.

“I don't know.” I run my mind over the names I'm aware of from Julia's past: the two exes at the funeral—Charlie Framley and Tom Harrison—then further back to the men I only ever heard about. There was a Simon, a Marty, two Sams, and a Jonny, plus Alan Rutherford the policeman …
Alan.

I close my eyes, feeling the full heat of the sun against my eyelids. I feel faint. I can hear Julia's voice in my head.

So he only left me the bloody thing in his will,
she'd said.
Even though it's named after himself and his wife.

My eyes snap open, and for a second, the sunlight blinds me.

“Magalan is the name of her place in Lympstone. The one the police guy left her, Alan Rutherford.”

“Magalan is a house?”

“Yes. The name's a mix of his and his late wife's names: Maggie and Alan.”

Damian makes a face. “Really?”

“Yeah, Julia thought that was weird too.” I smile, remembering Julia's bewilderment at why a pair of grown-ups would choose to name their home in this way. I thought it was sweet, but then that was the year before Will's affair, when I was heavily into my pregnancy with Zack and blissfully happy with my handsome, loving husband and my sweet-natured, affectionate little girl.

“Livy?”

I turn to Damian. “What?”

“I was asking if you've ever been there, this Magalan place?”

I nod. “Once or twice years ago, but then Julia decided to rent it out to make some extra cash.”

Damian nods. “She mentioned it to me too, but we never went there.”

“So why would Shannon be writing down the name of the house?”

“Julia must have told her about it,” Damian says. “D'you know where it is, exactly?”

“Yes.” I check my watch. It's only just after eleven. We can easily drive to Lympstone and then back to Exeter before I make my return journey to Mum and the kids.

“Shall we?” Damian raises his eyebrows.

I nod and he starts the engine.

We don't speak much for the next few minutes. Damian drives fast with dance music blaring from his surround-sound speakers. He asks if I'd prefer silence, or if I'd rather choose what we listen to from the selection on his MP3 Player. I tell him I'm happy with whatever he picks.

And I am.

It's crazy, but driving with the sun on my face and the furious bass of Damian's music pulsing through my body, I feel in some kind of limbo, away from everything real: the messenger in Shannon's flat, Will's affair, and my fears about Julia.

The feeling ends as soon as we approach Lympstone. Damian turns off the music so I can direct him to Julia's cottage, which is half a mile or so outside the village. It's another beautiful July day: dry and sunny, but as we pull up along the road from the little seafront terrace, I shiver. Will Shannon be here? Or have we come on a wild goose chase? I get out of the car and stretch my limbs. Damian's sports car might look amazing, but it's actually not that comfortable.

Damian walks along the sunlit sidewalk to Julia's cottage. The name,
MAGALAN
, is painted in fading blue over the front door. The front garden is a riot of color and bloom, yet the overall effect is contained. Someone has worked this garden hard; it takes a lot of effort to make wildflowers look so good without letting them overrun the place. Julia must have paid a gardener to do it, she certainly didn't have green fingers herself.

I kill all plants, Liv,
she used to say.
I'm the Angel of Death for foliage.

“Pretty,” Damian says.

I peer in through the window. The cottage is smaller than I remember. The front door opens straight into the living room which is dark and cool, set with the plain, simple furniture Julia loved, plus some flowery cushions as a sop to the chintzy quality of the house itself. The kitchen lies beyond and I know from memory there's a tiny backyard leading directly onto the beach out back. There's no sign of anyone inside.

I ring the doorbell. Its musical chime echoes through the house beyond. Nobody comes to the door.

I sigh. “Looks like it's empty.”

“Bloody hell.” Damian sounds as despairing as I feel.

A click sounds behind us. I spin around.

She's there, at the garden gate. Shannon Walker. Two grocery bags are in her hand and a look of utter shock is on her face.

“What are you doing here?” She takes a step away from us.

“Wait.”

“Please.”

Damian and I speak at once.

Shannon eyes us warily. She's wearing jeans and a tight T-shirt with silver Chanel earrings. Her blond hair is tied back in a ponytail. “You were in Aces High that night,” she says. “You both were.”

“That's right,” I say quickly. “I went because you had a meeting with Julia. She was my friend.” I glance at Damian. “
Our
friend.”

“How did you find me?” Shannon asks.

I hesitate, not wanting to admit we broke into her flat and snooped around for clues.

“I told you, I was Julia's friend. I remember Alan Rutherford—” I point to the
MAGALAN
sign above the front door. “—the guy who left this place to her.”

Shannon keeps her eyes fixed on me. I sense that she's weighing up the situation, trying to decide whether or not to trust us.

“Did Julia tell you to come here?” I ask.

“Do you know who killed her?” Damian blurts out.

He's tense, all repressed energy and powerful presence. Shannon casts a wary look at him, then back to me.

“You said your name was Livy Jackson, right?”

I nod. “Did Julia tell you about me?” I think of Will's name on the Honey Hearts form. “She asked you to go after my … Will Jackson, that was the man she told you to … speak to, wasn't it?”

Shannon frowns; then she walks toward us through the gate and up the little path. She's in high-heeled sandals that pat softly along the brick. “That guy, your husband, Will Jackson … he was just a cover,” she says. “The whole Honey Hearts thing was a cover.”

Confusion swirls inside my head.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Exactly what I say.” Shannon reaches the front door and I stand back to let her pass. “Julia just pretended to hire me.”

“Why?” Damian demands.

Shannon shrugs. She fishes in her Vuitton handbag and draws out a set of keys.

“How come you're staying here?” I ask.

“Julia told me she was having it painted between renters, and where the spare key was. She said if anything happened to her, if she didn't make it to our second meeting, I should come here and tell no one. That's what I did, straight after I saw you in Aces High.”

“Why did Julia think something might happen to her?” Damian asks.

Shannon's gaze flickers over him. I watch her appraise him, taking in the strong lines of his face and his black shirt. My heart is in my mouth.

“Because of me,” Shannon says. “Because of what I told her.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“You better both come in,” Shannon says.

I'm numb as I follow her and Damian through the front door and into the living room. She seems to be saying that Will and the whole Honey Hearts entrapment was some kind of ruse. But to what end?

“Just give me a second.” Shannon puts her keys on the side table, then takes her shopping into the kitchen. She sets the bags on the floor beside a pair of sneakers.

Damian goes after her. I look around the living room. The shelves on one wall are empty and sanded down. A pot of paint and two large bottles of mineral spirits stand on the floor beside them ready for the repainting job. The shelves on the opposite side of the room sparkle with fresh cream paint. So does the dresser in the corner, I recognize it from my childhood home. Mum was having a clear out—years ago—and she let Julia take some of the furniture. I'd forgotten this was here. I wander over and run my hand over the wood. I'm not prepared for the unframed photo that's lying flat on the middle shelf. It's of Julia and Kara, laughing, their arms wrapped around each other. Kara is wearing the locket Julia gave her, the one that went missing when she died. God, they look so young. And so beautiful.

A lump lodges itself in my throat as I pick up the photo.

“That's your sister, isn't it?” Shannon asks.

I turn around. She and Damian are standing behind me.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

Damian looks at the picture. “Is that Julia when she was a teenager? She never showed me any photos.” His voice is hushed.

“It must have been taken just before Kara died,” I say, trying to keep my own voice steady.

“Julia gave me the photo when she met me,” Shannon explains. “She wanted to show me Kara. She told me how she was murdered. And … and she wanted to show me Kara's locket.”

“I don't understand,” I stammer. “Why did Julia want you to see the locket?” My head is still spinning. What on earth does Honey Hearts have to do with this? Why did Julia pretend to hire Shannon? What was Will a “cover” for?

Shannon frowns. “Kara's locket was how she found me,” she says.

“Sorry.” I clear my throat, my mind spinning. “I still don't understand.”

I can feel the tension radiating off Damian in waves. “Please,” he says. “Tell us what Julia said to you.”

“She said the locket was taken when Kara was murdered. She gave me the photo as … as proof.”

“But why?” I say. “Proof of what?”

Shannon sighs; then she pulls the neck of her T-shirt down to reveal the chain around her neck. She walks right over to me as she takes off the chain and hands me the locket that hangs at the end.

I prize it gently open. The photo booth pic of Julia and Kara, smiling, their eighteen-year-old faces cheek-to-cheek, stares back at me. I hold it tightly, a tiny piece of Kara back in my hands after all these years.

“This was my sister's,” I say, barely able to breathe. “This belonged to Kara.”

I flip the locket over. There is the minute scratch, just to the left of the hinge, where Kara dropped it in a pub parking lot one cold day in January, the month before she was killed. It was Dad's birthday, and he and Mum had driven to Exeter to spend the day with us. It was the last time the four of us were together.

I look up, into Shannon's eyes. Her expression is sympathetic. She takes the locket back from me and sighs.

“Where did you get this?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

Shannon's expression grows more fearful. Instinctively I can tell she feels she's said enough.

“Please,” I realize I'm holding my breath and take a gulp of air. Wild thoughts run through my head. Shannon can't have been more than six or seven years old when Kara was murdered. “What do you know? Were you there? Did you see my sister? What about Julia?”

“Where did you get the locket?” Damian urges. He drops his pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. His voice is strained.