I pushed open the gate. The garden enveloped me as I alighted the well-worn cobbles that I’d walked so many times before. I avoided looking down at the fairy garden, knowing it would cause tears to spill over. I stepped onto the porch, and knocked on the door.
Nothing stirred inside the house. I waited, my heart in my throat.Maybe she’s not home. Maybe…
The door flung open. Ashley’s mother stood in the frame, her usually tidy salt-and-pepper hair sticking out at all angles, her immaculate clothes rumpled, her broken heart splattered across her face.
“Oh, Mina!” She flung her arms around me, enveloping me in her warmth. I sank into her – this woman who fed me after school snacks and fixed my hair for the school formal and who never once forced me to drink a green tea, asparagus, and cayenne pepper smoothie – wishing I could give her what she needed. But I couldn’t give her Ashley back.
“Hey, auntie Helen.” I mumbled into her shirt. “I’m so sorry about Ashley.”
“Poor dear, I know you are,” she whispered back. “The police said you found her body. I didn’t even know you were back in town. Ashley was always so grateful you went with her to New York. You girls were such good friends.”
I didn’t go to New York with Ashley – she went to New York with me! Of course she’d try to co-opt my dream as her own, and make everything about her…
I pushed aside the ugly thought and focused on what Helen’s words revealed to me.So Ashley hadn’t told her about our falling out. Good, that’d make this easier.
“I came by to see if I could do anything, if I could help you. I just…” I shook my head. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Me neither, sweetie.” Helen pulled back and held the door open. “Please, come in.”
I entered the cottage. Familiar, comforting smells washed over me. I’d spend so much time in this house as a teenager, eating Sunday roasts and putting on makeup and dancing around the living room to Rancid. Ashley had two younger sisters, and her house was the exact opposite of mine – warm and suburban and filled with toys and name-brand snacks and artwork on the walls and furniture that didn’t come off the side of the road and money in the budget for fun things. I couldn’t quite see into the corners anymore but I knew they were packed high with toys and board games and box-sets.
“Do you want some pie?” Helen waved her arm toward the kitchen counter, which sagged under the weight of Pyrex dishes and casseroles. “The neighbors keep bringing food over, as if I can’t cook for myself.”
“Um… sure.” I didn’t, but I knew from my own grief over my eyes that doingsomethinghelped you get through the day. Helen loved playing the hostess, and her body remembered the motions even though her heart was numb. She bustled around the kitchen, wiping off a plate and lifting the lids of various dishes.
“Have the police been around?” I asked, leaning down to sift through the totes and purses hanging over the clothes pegs in the hall.Is there anything of Ashley’s here?
“Oh yes. They asked me all sorts of questions. Why did Ashley come home from New York? Who was she going around with? Did anyone have a grudge against her or did she mention being afraid of anyone? As if my Ashley would have enemies.” Helen gulped back a sob. “She was so happy in New York, and she just got that wonderful job.”
“Yes, she was very lucky,” I said, struggling to keep the venom out of my voice.
“I just don’t understand it.” Helen slammed the refrigerator door hard enough to rattle the shelves. “Ashley should be in New York right now, living her dreams, not lying in the morgue,murdered. Do you know why she came home? She told me that designer chap went on some kind of retreat, but she seemed… off. I didn’t ask her. I should have asked her.”
“Shhhh.” I dropped the tote I was riffling through and rushed to the kitchen to embrace Helen. “It’s not your fault. We don’t know what happened.”
She looked at me through tear-stained fingers. “I’m so sorry to be exploding all over you like this. I just… what was she even doing in that filthy bookshop? No one in the village trusts the gypsy who owns it. Foul-mouthed, drunken creature. I bet he—”
“Mr. Earnshaw may be a little rough around the edges,” I said, squeezing her a little harder than I intended. “But he’s not responsible for this. He has an alibi. I promise you I’m going to do everything I can to find out who did this. Speaking of which, I was also wondering, did Ashley have any luggage with her? We were working on a project together and I wanted to finish it before the funeral, to honor her.”
“Of course. I think Ashley would love that. Her backpack is on the end of the sofa.” Helen turned back to the bench, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I’m getting you some toad-in-the-hole, too.”
“That’s lovely, thanks.” I fumbled down the edge of the sofa and pulled out Ashley’s beautiful Hermes traveling case. I unzipped it and riffled through the stacks of clothing and makeup, hunting for anything that might give me a clue as to why she’d really come home. The police had her Birkin bag, but oddly enough she wasn’t carrying her wallet with her. I found it in the hidden pocket inside the case. I flipped it open, but there was nothing of interest in there – just a wad of crunched up US dollars, her business cards – ‘Ashley Greer – fashion influencer’ – and a note from Marcus Ribald written on a black-rimmed Post-it. ‘You’re my star, Ashley! You’re the only one I trust.’”
Fire flared in my veins.He was supposed to trust me.
“Did you notice Ashley wearing a diamond ring?” I asked Helen as I rifled through the pocket.
“The police asked me about a ring,” Helen called back, clattering dishes. “I’ve never seen it before, and it wasn’t exactly her taste.”
“Yeah. It’s probably a freebie from a fashion event. We’re always being given random stuff.”
Behind the wallet was a thick envelope and a stack of paper – thick stock, the kind we used in the office for fashion drawings. I held the paper up, but the light in Emma’s living room was too dim for me to make out what was drawn on them. I shoved the sheets and envelope into my pocket just as Helen emerged from the kitchen, carrying two plates heaped with food.
I stared at the plate in horror. She’d mixed every possible food type together – toad-in-the-hole, an enormous slab of lasagne, two slices of pizza, some kind of fishy-smelling taco. On the side was a slice of blueberry pie, gravy leaking over it.
“That’s… quite some feast, auntie Helen.”
“Oh,” Helen stared down at the plate as though she was seeing it for the first time. “I’m sorry, I guess I got carried away. Please, just eat what you want and leave the rest. Oh, and here, someone gave me this bag of caramels and I don’t want the girls to eat them all after I just paid for their braces. Take them, please. Share them with your mum.”
