“How about writing yourself a note and sticking it to the bathroom mirror to remind you?” Keren said gently. If she had a pound for every time someone gave her a reason for forgetting to floss she’d be able to buy the old Stocker place with its secret garden, and afford a kitchen extension like Sorrell and Zack.
Emerald brightened. “That’s a good idea. You’re friends with the Maynards: how far has Alex said the police are with the investigation?”
Keren shook her head. “Alex can’t talk about it. I don’t know if he’s even still part of the team. Lena’s doing better anyway, so that’s good. And she’s on speaking terms with her parents, so something good came out of it.” Wary was always the best way to approach Emerald. She was a lovely woman, not yet thirty, and seemingly empty-headed and a little vacant. But she also had a first from Cambridge, had written three best sellers and remembered everything.
“It’s just so strange. This man who was harassing her, wanting to use her to get back into the church, assaulted her and then fled, not approaching her since. Either he’s dead in the caves or he’s waiting until all the furore has died down.” Emerald spoke slowly, as if every word was an effort.
Lena, Sorrell’s assistant manager, had grown up in a strict, insular church based in Underwood, a neighbouring village of Severton. She’d left both the church and her family at seventeen to go to university, something that was frowned on, and was duly ex-communicated. The church – and not a cult, although Alex Maynard frequently referred to it as such – had attracted a man who was rejected by them. He’d apparently seen Lena as a way into the group and had threatened her, to the point where she’d agreed to meet him to set him straight.
It had ended with Lena and Sorrell trapped in the underground cave system, Lena with a broken leg and a head injury and Sorrell with a bizarre love for caving. Keren had left the last one to Zack to work out.
“I know the police are still looking for him,” Keren said. “But I doubt it’s a full on investigation. He’s wanted for assault and not, thankfully, murder.”
Emerald gave a slow nod. “Indeed. I can see you don’t know any more. I’ve been doing what I can, but even I’ve met a dead end. My only hope is that he doesn’t resurface. Especially as Lena seems to have blossomed with her confidence in recent weeks.”
“I agree,” Keren said, not wanting to give anything else away. She knew that Lena found night times and darkness difficult and that she struggled to sleep without nightmares. Luckily she had Sorrell, whose first career was a children’s therapist, and had taken the role of an older sister, which Lena had really needed. “And I’m sure the police know what they’re doing.”
“Oh, me too,” Emerald said. “We have some good officers here, especially Alex. But I’ve helped before with a murder enquiry when I lived in York. I’d like to be of help here too, if I can. Anything for our town.”
And nothing to do with your books,Keren thought. “Well, you can try to help me and yourself by flossing. However, I’d like you to make in appointment to come back in three months so I can see how you’re doing and keep an eye on that very small cavity, because we might need to fill it.”
“Oh,” Emerald said. “I’ll try to cut down on the pear drops then. They’ve become a bit of an addiction.” She gave Keren a now very white smile. “See you later. Are you going to the comedy night at the Last Temperance Bar?”
It always sounded strange when someone gave Scott’s bar it’s full name. Most locals just called it Scott’s bar.
Keren had forgotten about the comedy night. Or at least tried to, because it involved Scott. Thinking about, speaking of and seeing Scott was not allowed. Any one of those three resulted in brain ache.
“I don’t know,” Keren said, knowing she would be. Rayah would want to go, and if she told Rayah she was staying in, she’d begin the interrogation. Tonight she would have to hide in plain sight.
Emerald nodded. “You should. Marcy is having a turn in the open mic section.” She left the room in a daze of curly dark hair and long skirts. Keren was pretty sure she was wearing more than one.
The thought of Marcy, a food critic who happened to live in Severton, trying to make people laugh was humorous in itself. If she was taking a turn on the open mic, then the bar would be packed and Scott would be busy. There most likely wouldn’t even be the chance for them to exchange insults.
Her mind went back to the kiss in Sorrell’s study. Despite all her resolutions, she had replayed how he’d kissed her. There hadn’t been the anger of the first time. Instead, the kiss had been full of a quiet passion. He wanted her. She’d been able to tell with not just the way his body had reacted to her, but with what he was holding back.
I was going to ask you out.
She hadn’t really believed him.
Not until she’d thought about it.
It was when she’d come back from university that first Christmas he’d been different. The Scott she’d know as a teenager had been quieter than his brothers; he’d always had a dastardly sense of humour, but never cruel. He’d almost been cruel that Christmas, making snide comments about what she’d been up to during Freshers’ week and how she thought she was something else now she was studying dentistry.
She’d ignored it, pushed away the sharp niggle of hurt it had caused, and given as good as she’d got. And after that it hadn’t stopped.
Keren put the dental instruments she’d used on Emerald in the sanitisers and began to wipe up. She had wondered why Scott’s attitude towards her had changed but she’d never been able to put her finger on it.
I was going to ask you out.
So why hadn’t he? Someone had told him she’d laughed at the idea of him being interested, it seemed. Apparently, she’d made it appear like he was beneath her interest when in fact the opposite had been true.
Scott was three years older and that had given him an air of mystery. He could sing and play pretty much any instrument and every girl in her year would’ve dropped a cup size to have gone out with him. Swarthy skinned and dark haired, he’d had a glimmer in his eye that had reminded Keren of a pirate. Now that hair was longer and wilder, his jaw covered with a beard that wasn’t always tidy and he had tattoos covering both arms and some of his chest. And biceps. Plus pectorals. And other muscle groups that she had studied. He had all those when he was younger, but now they were a lot more defined and unforgettable.
Would she have dated him when she was younger? Yes. So why did he think she she would’ve turned him down? Try as she might, and to be fair, she had attempted to not try that much, she couldn’t work out what she had said to make him think she would’ve rejected him, and been a bitch about it. That wasn’t her.
The door to her room swung open and Kiefer entered, dressed to leave for the day and by the looks of things, have an early dinner date. “I’m offski,” he said. “FYI, Scott Maynard came in. He’s booked an appointment for Thursday. Wants to discuss an implant. Thought you might need a heads up.”
“Why would I need a heads up?” she said, busying herself with a box of mini mouthwashes and not making eye contact. Kiefer was another one of those insightful people she needed to avoid.
