You Can Trust Me (39 page)

“Please, Mummy.” Poppy is weeping now, her head hanging. “I've got some money, I—”

“It's not about the money.” Even from where I'm standing, I can see the agony etched on Alexa's face. “I just can't do this anymore.
Keys
.”

Poppy holds up the plastic bag. Alexa takes it, finally letting her daughter go. Poppy slumps against the wall. “Where will I go? You can't kick me out.”

Alexa fishes in the plastic bag and pulls out the keys. I hear the clink of metal as she shoves them inside the drawer behind her and slams it shut.

“What you have to understand is there's only so much help other people can give you,” Alexa snaps, coming into view again. “I have given you chance after chance. I know you've been stealing from Crowdale. How could you do that, Poppy?”

“I didn't,” Poppy protests, but she can't meet her mother's eyes. “It wasn't my fault,” she says, more quietly.

“It never is, is it?” Alexa sighs. “You need to leave now.”

“No,” Poppy sobs.

“Now.”

I back away from the door as footsteps approach. Turning, I scurry along to the bathroom, darting inside just as Alexa's office door opens. I rush into a cubicle, my heart pounding.

I'm getting closer and closer. Poppy told me earlier she got the locket from the place she was staying. It sounds like she stole it from somewhere called Crowdale, the keys to which are now in a drawer in Alexa Carling's office.

I emerge from the cubicle and check my face in the mirror. I look terrible, my damp hair plastered against my flushed cheeks, no makeup and a wild, unhinged look in my eye. No wonder the security guard did a double take.

I push myself away from the sink and head outside. Alexa Carling is waiting for me. She looks up as I appear, giving me a smooth, professional smile. There's no trace of emotion in her face.

“Dear me, Olivia, you're soaked,” she says.

“I'm fine,” I say as she lets me into her office. My eyes dart immediately to the drawer where I saw her put the keys.

Alexa gestures for me to sit. As I do, I'm suddenly and uncomfortably aware of just how damp I am. My palms are clammy with sweat. Now that I'm here, I have no idea what to say.

“Olivia, has something happened?” Alexa leans forward, a picture of concern. “What are you doing here on a Sunday?”

For a moment I doubt everything I've assumed. How can this woman have anything to do with Julia's death? I take a deep breath. “I heard you just now,” I say, plunging recklessly in. “Was that your daughter.”

Alexa looks away but not before I see the pain behind her eyes. I imagine for a second just how terrible she must feel, cutting her daughter off as she's just done. It's unthinkable. Except … look how nuts Hannah drives me right now, aged twelve, when I can make all manner of excuses for her bad behavior. For all I know, Alexa has been supporting Poppy for years and this is the last straw.

“I heard you say she stole from you? Was it from your home?” I'm on terrifyingly dangerous ground with these questions, but I have to know.

Alexa frowns. “Just one of my vacation properties,” she says. “But we're here for
you,
Olivia. I'm sorry if you overheard anything unpleasant.”

I run my hands through my damp hair, confused. What was Kara's locket doing in a rented holiday house?

“It's not that,” I say quickly. “It's just things are worse, aren't they, when your home is violated. It's kind of like a rape.”

Alexa's frown deepens. “Olivia, please tell me why you're here.”

I force my eyes to focus on her face, keeping them away from the drawer with the keys. I take a quick look around the rest of the office. The case files are still neatly stowed on the shelves, the desk still cluttered with papers.

“It's my husband.” I heave a huge sigh. “I'm more sure than ever he's seeing someone else.” The truth of these words brings real tears to my eyes. I swallow them down.

It all pours out of me. My heart cracks; there's no need to lie. I don't give anyone's names, just explain that since I was last here, I've got more proof that Will has been unfaithful. “You see, my husband's boss actually
saw
him leaving her hotel bedroom—it's the same woman he slept with before.”

Alexa nods sympathetically.

“The problem is, my husband is still refusing to admit what has happened. I need him to confess so I can move on. I need to know for sure what he's capable of.”

“Oh, my love,” Alexa says soothingly. “I'm so sorry, this all sounds very painful for you.”

“It is.” I look around the room with a sniff. No sign of any tissues. “Do you have a handkerchief?”

“Of course.” Alexa reaches behind the couch where we're sitting and retrieves a box of tissues from the low table that I hadn't even noticed.

I take one. “Thanks.”

I glance at the drawer with the keys again, a plan forming in my mind. Maybe I could take a look at this holiday rental myself, see if there are any clues that might lead me closer to the truth about what happened to Julia. Now that Alexa has kicked Poppy out, the place should be empty. I'm not going to take anything. I won't even be breaking in. I'm just going to have a look.

But first I need the keys. Which means getting Alexa out of this room.

“Now, let me check my notes.” Alexa flicks through a file as I blow my nose. “Ah, now, what about Brooke? She's here right now. I was just briefing her on another client so she's right next door. Would you like to meet her? It sounds like you need closure on all this as soon as possible.”

“Yes, please,” I say, hoping Alexa will leave the room. Instead she heads for the desk and picks up the phone.

“Could you come into my office, please, Brooke, dear?” Alexa replaces the receiver and stands in front of the desk, leaning against it. My eyes light on the water jug and two glasses beside her. They give me an idea.

Before I can even think how to execute it, the door opens and a tall, curvy blonde walks in. Apart from her height, she's got the same looks as Shannon—a sort of coy, baby doll prettiness dressed up in a tight, cropped T-shirt and red silk pants that hang from her slim hips. She's gorgeous, late twenties, I'd say, and with a sleepy sexiness about her dark, slightly slanted eyes.

She comes straight over and shakes my hand.

“Olivia. Brooke.” Alexa's manner is suddenly brisk and professional. “Now, Olivia, perhaps you would explain your situation to Brooke.”

I do as I'm told. Brooke nods throughout. She's not stupid, this girl. I can see it in her eyes. When I've finished, she glances at Alexa, who gives her an approving nod, encouraging her to speak.

“So the way it works…,” Brooke says. “You tell me where I'm likely to find your husband—maybe a bar he goes to after work—then I'll approach him there one evening in the next few weeks. I'll make eye contact, tell him he looks good in his suit, or that his aftershave smells great … something small. Then I'll get chatting, flirt a bit, sound him out, really. Usually I tell the guys that I manage a hotel around the corner, lead the conversation to how people check in for flings, especially married men. That's often all it takes to get them talking about sexual encounters they've heard of. We swap stories for a bit, then if there's anything to confess, that's usually confession time.”

I stare at her, forgetting the keys in Alexa's drawer for a moment. “You mean the guys you seduce
tell
you what they've done, just like that?”

Brooke smiles and her slant eyes narrow like a cats. “Firstly, I
don't
seduce. We
never
go that far. Not even a kiss. The conversation is all recorded, so you can hear that for yourself. Secondly, sure they tell me. To be honest, by the time we've talked a bit, maybe had a couple of drinks and I'm laughing at everything they say, they're, like, boasting about what they've got away with in order to impress me.”

Beside us, Alexa smiles. My jaw drops. Is it really that simple to flatter a man into revealing himself?

“Are men that stupid?” The words blurt out of me in a hollow whisper.

Brooke and Alexa laugh. Alexa's chuckle is a light tinkle, but Brooke's is earthy, as sexy as her eyes. Suddenly I'm not so surprised that men give up their secrets to her. For a second I waver. Then I think of Will and his refusal to admit to reigniting his affair with Catrina. I grit my teeth. Will deserves this. I deserve the truth. And if I say no now, then I will leave here without any way of knowing the truth. And without those keys.

“Let's just say men aren't as smart as they sometimes think they are,” Alexa says with another wry chuckle.

I nod, determined to see this through. “Show me where to sign,” I say.

Alexa leaves and Brooke takes notes on a form just like the others I saw in the case files. I hesitate before giving Will's details. Not because I'm having second thoughts, but because I'm aware it's the same name as on Julia's form. Still, it's perfectly possible for there to be two Will Jacksons in Exeter. Neither part of his full name is unusual. We finish filling out the form. I send Brooke a picture of Will from my phone, tell her where he usually goes for a drink on a Friday after work, then I sign the form at the bottom and look up, expectant.

“Thanks, Brooke.” Alexa returns as the girl leaves. She sits beside me. “You won't regret this, Olivia. Brooke is one of our best girls. She'll get the truth from your husband, then you'll know exactly what you're dealing with.”

“How, er, how long will it take?” I ask.

“It's in Brooke's hands now,” Alexa says smoothly. “She'll contact you in a week or two, I expect, to set up a feedback meeting.” She produces a portable credit card machine, and I pay using the card from my old bank account—the one that's still in my maiden name. Alexa stamps my form with the letter
P
.

P
for “paid.”

I have a sudden flashback to Julia's unstamped form. So Julia never actually paid for Shannon to approach Will. That ties in with what Shannon said about the whole thing being a cover.

I chew on my lip, feeling anxious. It's time. I get up and pace across the room. Not to the desk at first, just to the end of the couch. I pace back, wringing my hands together.

“There's no chance my husband will find out, is there?” I glance over at the desk where Alexa's papers are spread out between the computer and the water jug.

“No,” Alexa says firmly. “Our Honeys are discreet above everything. Our business depends on it.”

She has clearly forgotten about Damian bursting in to the reception area last time I was here—or, at least, is hoping I've forgotten.

I turn and pace again. This time I walk right over to the desk and indicate the water jug. “May I have some?” I ask.

“Of course.” Alexa starts to rise, but I'm much closer to the jug.

I reach for it. And send it flying. Water splashes across the phone and the pages on the desk and onto the beige carpet. “Oh,” I say, dropping to my hands and knees and patting, ineffectually, at the spillage. “Oh, I'm so sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Alexa says. For a moment I think she's going to try to use the waterlogged phone to call for help, but instead she walks to the door. “I'll get a towel.”

As soon as she's left the room, I scramble to my feet. In a flash I'm across the room to the drawer, opening it, grabbing at the keys. There are two of them on the key ring, together with a simple plastic label spelling out:
CROWDALE.

Footsteps sound outside. There's no time to think. I shove the keys into my jeans pocket, shut the drawer, and scuttle back to the front of the desk. I drop to my knees as Alexa reenters, a towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

She walks over to me. “Oh, there's no need,” she says.

I stand up and take the glass of water she offers. I take a few sips, but the water almost chokes me. The keys in my pocket feel like they are giving off some flashing neon sign.
Stay calm,
I tell myself.

“So…” I force a wan smile onto my face. “We're all set?”

Alexa looks up from the floor, where she's laying out the towel to soak up the water and gives a brisk nod. “Absolutely.” She gets to her feet. “Like I told you, Brooke will take it from here. She'll be in touch soon.”

I make myself walk down the stairs rather than run, though I can't resist jogging down the final set of steps. Outside, the rain has stopped though the sky is still overcast, the steel gray clouds lowering and heavy.

I scurry away from the Honey Hearts office. My heart is thumping. I'm a thief. I've stolen a set of keys. I've never robbed anything before, not even as a little girl. Kara did. A memory flashes into my head, sharp and true. It's hard to square with the image I have of Kara now, but when she was thirteen or so she stole sweets from under the nose of our local, elderly newsdealer. Kara would smile her angelic smile, and the Asian man who ran the shop would smile back, oblivious of the fact that as soon as his back was turned, checking on newspaper returns or dealing with another customer, Kara's slim fingers would filch a couple of chocolate bars and slip them into her pocket.

She never panicked either, just strolled out of the shop like a hardened criminal. I would be watching from the doorway, half-impressed and half-appalled. I always gave her a hard time about it, telling her she was evil and stupid, but the truth was I was envious of her cool and her ability to feel no guilt whatsoever. I liked the Asian man with his stooped back and graying beard. My cheeks burned at the thought we had robbed him.

But I never told on Kara. And it wasn't just because she always took an extra chocolate bar for me. I didn't want to expose her because, on some level, her guilt felt shameful. Maybe, even then, I wanted to protect the family version of my little sister—the one that Mum and Dad and I had built up over the years: Kara the dreamer, Kara the naïve, Kara the meek.