Chapters (58)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Forty-five
- Forty-six
- Forty-seven
- Forty-eight
- Forty-nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-one
- Acknowledgements
- An Eastbourne Murder Mystery
- Canelo Crime
- About the Author
- Also by Sheila Bugler
Finally, the different pieces started to make sense, and Dee could see how they all fitted together.
‘So if both their cars are there,’ she said, ‘then the chances are they’re still at the hotel, right?’
‘They’re not,’ Emer insisted. ‘I checked everywhere, and the guy on reception was adamant – Maeve never checked in.’
‘What if she used a different name?’ Dee said. ‘All she’d need to do was check in with a false name and you’d never know she was there.’
‘Why would she do that?’ Ed said.
‘Have you got a photo of Maeve?’ Dee asked Emer.
‘I don’t think so.’ Emer scrolled through her phone, frowning. ‘Hang on, we’re friends on Instagram. Just a sec. Here.’
Dee took the phone and looked at the photo on the screen. A young woman with bobbed hair and elfin features. It was difficult to make out the colour of her eyes from the photo, but Dee already knew they were an unusual shade of pale blue.
‘That’s her.’ She handed the phone back to Emer. ‘The girl in that photo is the same girl who contacted me pretending to be you.’
Forty-nine
The darkness lifted and suddenly she was breathing. Just. One nostril was blocked, but she was able to suck air through the other one. Red dots were floating in front her eyes, blurring her vision. A loud noise inside her head, like gushing water, blocked out any other sounds. She could see Maeve. Her mouth was moving, as if she was speaking, but Kitty couldn’t hear her. Then the rushing water stopped and the words started trickling through.
‘Can’t do it… wrong… want to but I can’t. Stop it! Shut your eyes. Don’t look at me. I can’t stand it.’
The words sounded strange, as if she was having problems controlling her tongue. Kitty thought the problem was her ears, that the lack of air had damaged them, somehow. She imagined the sudden rush of blood to her brain bursting her ear drums, damaging her hearing forever. But then she saw the bottle of vodka in Maeve’s hand and realised that’s what was causing the problem with her speech. She was drunk.
The knowledge triggered another surge of panic. Kitty closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe as slowly as she could – not easy under the circumstances – while she waited for the worst of the panic to pass. But it was impossible with Maeve screaming at her.
‘Why, Kitty? You could have sent a letter, done something to let us know. But you did nothing. Not a single thing. Do you know what you’ve done? Do you have any fucking idea the damage you’ve caused?’
Maeve paused to drink from the bottle. When she’d finished, she leaned in, fumes of boozy breath invading the little bit of air Kitty was able to breathe.