Third to Die (26 page)

Finally Aiden pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine. The car grew quiet but continued to tick over softly. For a moment he just sat looking at the small house with the faded shutters and the picket fence. If this had been his dream, why was it starting to feel more like a nightmare?

Aiden knew that when he walked inside there’d be only darkness to greet him. Both the house and its welcome would be cold. He rummaged in his pocket for his cell phone and as he flicked it on the glow of the screen illuminated the inside of the car. He scrolled down his list of contacts and stopped on Brandy’s name. He could still taste her kiss on his lips. He could imagine her being right there, could smell the gentle vanilla fragrance of her skin, hear the rise and fall of her breath.

He wanted to call her. He wanted to plead with her, yet again, to come back to Avalon. Five minutes passed as Aiden stared intently at his cell phone. The screen went dark as it automatically locked itself. He wanted to hear her voice, to have her tell him that actually she’d reconsidered and would love to join him in Avalon. But that was never going to happen. Avalon had almost destroyed Brandy, even love it seemed wasn’t enough to draw her back.

Clenching his jaw, Aiden shoved his cell phone back into his pocket and climbed out of his car. The early morning air felt blissfully fresh. Aiden breathed it in hungrily, filling up his lungs as much as he could. Then slowly he released it, and in doing so shed the cobwebs of fatigue and travel which clung to his insides. He felt refreshed and slightly more alert. He walked towards his house with purpose. The sun would soon rise over Avalon, delivering the promise of a new day.

*

Brandy sat with her head pressed against her apartment window and watched the lights of the passing cars snake their way along the street beneath her. The rain had intensified so that the lights blurred against the falling water, making them seemingly twinkle. Brandy sighed and her breath misted on the glass. Lifting a finger she lazily drew a heart on the window and smiled as she did so. It reminded her of winter nights in Avalon where the frost would cling tightly against the small trailer she lived in, desperate to get in. She’d sit and glance out at the festive lights adorning nearby trailers. Somehow, draping everywhere in illuminated Santas and reindeer made everywhere seem more magical. Most trailers had lights, except hers. Her mother could never afford them.

So instead, Brandy would blow against the small windows on cold nights and draw snowflakes on to the glass. She’d admire the design until her breath faded and her trailer returned to its usual dismal vessel of misery.

Even in her prison cell Brandy used to spend time tracing patterns with her eyes along the walls. The old brickwork was littered with lines and cracks, some collected into the shapes of horses or little people. Brandy would lie on her back for hours, scouring every inch of her cell for every design she could possibly find. Then she’d link them all together in her mind in an elaborate story.

“That’s the secret to happiness,” her old high school English teacher had once said to her apathetic class who were all ignoring her, all except Brandy who always hung on the woman’s every word.

“The ability to find light even in the darkest of places,” the kind-faced old woman continued.

“If you can do that, then you’ll always find happiness.”

Brandy had clung to that sentiment tighter than she cared to admit. The words echoed in her mind each time she feared that she was being swallowed by the darkness of her own existence.

And now here she was, in Chicago, a free woman. But something wasn’t right. She was in a place where she should be surrounded by light yet each time she looked around she saw the darkness creeping in, sliding in beneath doors and around corners.

She breathed against the glass and drew a different design. She simply drew an A. Tilting her head, she leaned back and looked at it. She wasn’t sure if the A was for Aiden and for Avalon but she’d felt compelled to draw it.

The image quickly melted away, merging with the rain lashing against the window. Brandy glanced down at the cars slowly moving through the city. She wondered where they were each headed; she wondered if the people within them were happy.

*

The programme from Edmond’s funeral was still upon the kitchen table. His plump face smiled out at Aiden as he entered the room. Scowling at it he promptly turned it over so that Edmond’s image was pressed against the table cloth. The last thing he needed was yet another reminder of how much Avalon had changed for him.

Flicking on the kettle Aiden turned to glance outside as he waited for the water to boil. The first golden rays had begun to stretch across his lawn, ready to dry out the dew which clung to the blades of grass. It was set to be a clear day. Already the darkness was starting to give way to a blue sky.

The neighbour soon began to resonate with the first early signs of life; people bringing their trash cans to the curb, a newspaper delivery boy thrusting the latest edition onto people’s porches as he hastily cycled by. From Aiden’s window it looked like an image from a postcard sent from the perfect home. The kettle gave a shrill whistle alerting him to his freshly boiled water. He poured himself a coffee and savoured the dense aroma which he’d always found comforting. Taking a tentative sip, he glanced back at the upturned funeral program. Avalon was far from the utopia he’d hoped it would be. But it was all he had now. He drank more deeply from his mug, knowing that he’d need the caffeine to fuel him through the day ahead.

Aiden recalled how Buck Fern had drunkenly mocked him, saying how he’d finally come around to the Avalon way. And perhaps the old sherriff was right. Aiden felt jaded and resentful of his new home, but also attached to it. Avalon was now a part of him, a part of a promise that he could not break. He was there whether he wanted to be or not, and didn’t that make him just like everyone else in town?

Chapter Twelve

Coming Home

Aiden placed down the fresh cup of Earl grey tea and beside it a croissant on a paper plate. He lingered for a moment beside Betty’s desk, delaying his inevitable entrance into his own office. It just didn’t seem right to be at Copes and May when neither of the company’s namesakes were present. Aiden was still a relative stranger within Avalon yet now he owned a business, had an anchor holding him there.

With a pained sigh he moved into his own office. Pale sunlight filtered through the partially open blinds bathing the room in a gentle glow. Usually Aiden would welcome the presence of natural light but not today. He went over to the window and pulled sharply on a cord to tilt the blinds shut.

In the darkened room it was easier to ignore Edmond’s empty desk. Aiden sat down at his own computer and watched the monitor flicker to life.

Less than five minutes passed before he heard the soft chime of the bell, almost immediately followed by a brisk knock against his door.

“Come in,” he tried to sound bright.

Betty opened the door and peered into the office.

“Good morning, Aiden,” she smiled lightly at him in greeting.

“Morning, Betty.”

“Thank you for the tea and pastry.”

“You’re welcome.”

Betty opened the door a fraction wider so that she could see more of the office.

“Want me to get the blinds for you?” she asked as she stepped deeper into the room. “You don’t want to be sat in darkness all day.”

“Actually, I do.” Aiden admitted sadly. Betty paused and turned to look at him. He could see the concern etched into the lines around her eyes. She drew her mouth into a thin line and reached for her glasses which were currently hanging around her neck. She genteelly positioned them atop her nose and scrutinized Aiden with fresh clarity.

“You’re not sleeping,” she immediately deduced.

“No, not really,” Aiden rubbed at his eyes, feeling self-conscious of the dark circles which hung beneath them.

“We can’t dwell on what we can’t change,” Betty told him fervently, though he noticed how she kept her back to Edmond’s desk.

“I know, Betty but—”

“You now own Copes and May, Aiden,” Betty cited grandly. “The company is in your hands.”

“Yes, but—”

“There can be no buts, Aiden. Edmond wouldn’t want you sat here in the darkness wishing things were different. He’d want you to put your energy and enthusiasm into making this company as great as it can possibly be. Would you like my advice?”

“Yes, of course,” Aiden nodded, feeling subservient to his aged secretary and her steely determination. When she spoke to him she made him feel like a little school boy being chastised for being tardy. So often Betty was polite and conscientious, but it was quickly becoming apparent that she could be extremely tenacious when she needed to be.

“I think we should give the place a complete overhaul. Get you a new desk, brighten up the waiting room, give it all a fresh lease of life. That way, we won’t feel like we are tip-toeing around Edmond’s ghost all the time.”

Aiden had to agree with her. He certainly did feel that he was constantly overshadowed by Edmond’s presence, which continued to linger in the office even after his death. An image overhaul might be just what the place needed to help Aiden find his new vision for the company.

“You’re right,” Aiden smiled in gratitude. “This place does need to change.”

“Would you like me to gather together some catalogues of suppliers for you?” Betty asked helpfully.

“Yes, that would be great.”

Betty began to retreat back out of the darkened office when Aiden called her back.

“But we don’t change the name,” he said. “It stays as Copes and May.”

“As it should do,” Betty nodded at him respectfully as she closed the door.

Aiden glanced guiltily at Edmond’s empty desk.

“Sorry, old friend,” he told the space where his portly colleague should have been sat. “But it’s too painful to keep things the way they were.”

*

Isla couldn’t wait to have her hair and nails done. She eagerly approached the salon Chez Vous, pushing Meegan along in her stroller. The little girl was substantially less enthused with their destination. As they walked in, she crinkled her nose at the chemical-infused scents which hung heavily in the air.

“Urghh.” Meegan stuck out her tongue and coughed dramatically.

“Hi.” Isla walked towards the reception desk. She sighed contentedly as she took in the familiar sights and sounds of a busy salon.

“Isla Connelly, I’ve got an appointment at two for myself and my daughter.”

The flame-haired woman behind the desk scanned the appointment book laid open before her and then looked past Isla at Meegan.

“Oh my, she’s fresh as a daisy!” she declared.

“You can never be too young to start taking care of yourself.” Isla grinned. She was excited for them both to have their nails done. She envisioned it being the start of many appointments together where they would sit and gossip whilst they were beautified. Isla could still recall the first time her own mother had taken her with her to the salon. As a little girl she’d been entranced by all the women with painted faces and fancy hair. She’d known instinctively that she was where she belonged.

In contrast, Meegan had bunched up her little face and her cheeks were reddening.

“Well, I’m Carol,” the red-haired receptionist said as she pulled her ruby lips into a smile. “I’ll be doing your treatments and—” She dropped her eyes to look back at her list.

“Oh, Jeanine will be doing your daughter’s. I thought my niece was down to do them but it looks like she isn’t in today.”

“Well, we’re just excited to be beautified, aren’t we, sweetheart?” Isla looked down at Meegan just as the little girl erupted into floods of tears. They spewed from her, splashing against her crimson cheeks.

“Meegan,” Isla felt her own face flush with shame. “Calm down, you’re just having your nails done, there’s nothing to get upset about.”

Meegan waved her arms and kicked her legs as she tried in vain to free herself from the prison of her stroller.

“Park!” she lamented. Then, “Football, Daddy!”

“Not sure she’s got the makings of a beauty queen,” Carol laughed. “My niece was Little Miss Southern Star once,” Carol smiled proudly, then her lips wilted at the edge as a troubling thought crossed her mind. “Well, almost,” she concluded quietly.

Her comment caused something to clench within Isla. She distantly recalled a conversation she’d had with Aiden. Brandy had once been Miss Southern Star before she’d been unceremoniously stripped of her crown. When she glanced back up at the receptionist, her eyes glittered with intensity.

“What did you say your niece’s name was?” she asked politely.

“Oh,” Carol opened her mouth to respond when Rhonda came hurtling down the staircase located in the centre of the salon, preceded by the sharp sound of her five-inch heels echoing off the metal steps. She was calling Carol’s name repeatedly.

“Carol, we’ve got a problem upstairs,” she announced breathlessly as she reached the reception area.

Carol gave her a fierce warning look. It wasn’t professional to discuss salon problems in front of clients.

“Can you come up please?” Rhonda asked as she leaned against the desk to catch her breath. She seemingly realized that she shouldn’t say anything more in Isla’s presence.

Isla watched the two women head up the staircase, momentarily distracted away from Meegan’s tantrum. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as though she were being watched. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew Carol’s niece and that she’d come worryingly close to meeting her. Isla vowed that it would be the first and last time she visited Chez Vous. She never wanted to see the awful woman who had ruined her marriage ever again.

But as Isla lowered herself into the leather sofa in the waiting area and she was forced to blink back tears, she knew that Brandy wasn’t to blame for her marriage having ended; she was.

*

With Betty’s assistance, Aiden had picked out a stylish new desk for both of them and also some new sofas for the waiting area. It would take several days for them to be delivered but Aiden did feel better now that change was imminent. He also ordered a new state-of-the-art computer with a large monitor.