Chapter Thirty-Two

Patrick sprinted from the pub, praying it wasn't true. Not Gracey. Please, don't let it be Gracey. Libby had to be wrong. Grace wouldn't murder Maggie. She wouldn't. What the fuck would he do if she had? What if she admitted it? He loved Gracey. She'd been his best mate for the last two years. No. Grace wouldn't kill Maggie. She wouldn't. Grace wouldn't hurt a fly. Literally. She yelled at him for swatting a wasp back in August.

It couldn't be Grace.

Libby ran alongside him, but held back as he reached Grace's house. He knocked. They waited. The ghost of Grace answered the door, her skin pale and her eyes red. She didn't speak, but headed back inside, leaving the door open for them to come in.

Oh Christ, Grace. What have you done?

She sat curled up in an armchair and wrapped herself in a grey cardigan.

'Gracey, what's going on?' he asked quietly, praying for a rational explanation that didn't involve murder. 'Did you give Maggie's pendant to Libby?'

She burst into tears, nodding and he sat heavily onto the sofa. Libby perched on the windowsill, frowning at him.

'Gracey, how did you get the pendant?' Please tell me Maggie gave it to you.

'I didn't hurt her, I swear.' Grace wiped in vain at her tears. 'I went... at the festival, she wasn't feeling well. I got back about two and went to check on her. I don't know why. I just felt I had to. And she was there. Dead. I didn't know... I should've called... but I didn't. She had the pendant in her hand. And I took it.'

Her body shook as she sobbed. Should he hug her and comfort her or call the fucking police?

'Why?' he asked.

'I wanted it for a spell. It's an ancient Egyptian amulet, really powerful.' Grace picked at a loose thread in her cardigan.

'The inscription looks like hieroglyphics,' Libby said. 'What does it mean?'

'See the Truth. Seize the Power.' Grace sniffed.

'What did you want to boost?' Libby asked. 'A summoning spell?'

Grace nodded. 'I'd asked Maggie if I could borrow it, but she said no, because if Jack really wanted me, he wouldn't be shagging around in the first place. She could be such a bitch. I just wanted to do one spell. Why couldn't she just share?'

'But you'd stolen the emerald, so its power backfired on you. It sent Jack away.'

Patrick shook his head. 'Enough of the Wicca crap. Grace, you left her lying at the bottom of the stairs.' She started crying again. Oh for fuck's sake. 'Did you push her?'

'No!'

'But you left her.' He held his head in his hands. 'She was just lying on the floor.'

The sobbing continued.

'Why did you leave her? You could've taken the pendant and still called for help.'

'I... I was scared.' Grace wiped at her eyes. 'People would know I took it.'

How could this be happening?

'What do we do now?' Libby asked, her voice so quiet he barely heard her.

Grace's eyes implored him, begging him to pretend none of it happened. Libby's moralistic frown said the opposite. Oh Christ, this wasn't the time for Libby's honesty. He loved her moral values and her innate desire to do the right thing, but not when it came to Grace. How often had Grace bailed him out, covered for him? Was this his chance to repay her?

'Look,' he said, hoping Libby would understand, 'she didn't hurt Maggie. She just took the pendant. You can give it back to Zoe. No harm done.'

'But you can't just ignore-'

'Grace isn't a bad person.'

Libby turned to face out of the window, clearly unhappy. 'This is wrong.'

'I'm sorry,' Grace sobbed. 'After you gave me the retribution spell, I couldn't keep the pendant any more. And look what happened with you. The summoning spell backfired big style. I give up.'

'What the hell's a summoning spell anyway? Is this to invoke the devil or something weird?' Patrick asked, but Grace picked at a loose thread in her cardigan and Libby still stared out of the window.

All this over a stupid spell? None of it was even real. Libby stepped onto the table underneath the window, still peering outside. Oh Christ, now he had two deranged women on his hands.

'Libs, what are you doing?'

Libby pointed to the other side of the Square, towards their houses. 'The angle's not quite right, but this is where the photos were taken from, the ones of me with Xander and Robbie.' She turned to Grace. 'Did you take them from upstairs?'

Grace blanched.

Libby stepped down, staring at Grace. 'You gave them the evidence to call me a prostitute. Why?'

Grace raised her chin. 'You shagged Jack.'

Libby shook her head. 'This started before then.'

'Money. I have a hefty mortgage and Wray pays well. You and Andy in June was only worth a hundred quid, but the ones from Halloween? Five hundred quid. You and Xander, two hundred. You and Robbie, four.' Grace glanced from Libby to Patrick. 'There's a grand for a photo of you two together.'

Fuck. 'Did you take photos of me?'

Grace picked at her nail polish, but nodded. There were no more tears.

'The ones with Miss Haverton in the park?'

'No. That was one of Miss Haverton's friends. Jessica somebody.'

Jessica? No wonder he'd been smiling at the camera. She'd joined in five minutes later. The bitch. 'But the others? Tabitha Doyle? Lucy Errington?'

Another nod. 'What I don't sell to him, or he daren't print, I... put on the website.'

The website? Patrick leapt to his feet, getting away from Grace, scared he might hit her.

'You're the fucking Wraydar?' You've ruined my life. I might lose everything because of you.

'Why did you do it, Grace?' Libby asked.

'I just told you.'

'No. Why did you do it to Patrick? You two are friends.'

Grace stared at her.

'Grace?' he whispered.

She laughed. 'That's right. Friends.'

His heart stopped. Please don't let this be about me.

Libby groaned, slumping against the windowsill. 'Who did you really want to summon with the emerald? Jack?' Grace didn't answer. 'Or someone tall, dark and good with animals?'

'Yeah, well.' Grace said. 'It backfired, didn't it.'

Patrick closed his eyes, his head in his hands. Ten minutes. If he'd just had another ten minutes with Libby... Why did she have to open Grace's stupid gift? They could've been on their way to his house, or hers, and this wouldn't be happening.

No. This was his fault. This was his fault for something that happened almost a year ago, on Christmas Eve. The thing was, though he'd woken up in Grace's bed, he hadn't the faintest idea what that something was. He could make a pretty good guess, but they'd been so wasted, he couldn't remember a thing and on Christmas Day, they'd agreed to pretend nothing had ever happened.

'Libs, can you-' He glanced up but she was already heading out of the door.

'Just go with her, Patrick.' Grace said, wiping her eyes.

'Come here, you idiot.' He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on hers.

*

Libby closed the front door and walked away, her heart hammering. Grace loved him. Why hadn't she seen it before? It was so obvious. She'd do anything for him. How long had poor Grace loved what she couldn't have? Poor Grace? The cow had sold her out and left Maggie in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Poor, poor Grace.

Libby marched back to the pub, resisting the temptation to bolt home. She owed it to her friends, the ones who'd planned a surprise party for her. She owed it to them to put on a brave face and enjoy her birthday party.

What if Patrick loved Grace? Grace was pretty, sexy and one of his best friends. What if he was kissing her, discarding her cardigan, peeling off her top?

In a corner of the bar, Zoe and Andy were chatting. Perfect. Libby joined them.

'Where did you and the hot vet go?' Zoe asked, raising her eyebrows.

'Nothing like that, thank you. I have a gift for you.' Libby stole a sip of Zoe's Bacardi and soda before holding up the emerald pendant.

'Fuck me, is that Maggie's?' Zoe snatched it. 'Where did you get it?'

'Found it in the garden.'

Andy gave a derisory laugh. 'Liar.'

'Let's just say, someone borrowed it and now they've returned it.'

'Did they borrow it from her cold dead hands?' Zoe's eyes narrowed.

Libby paused, watching Andy's reaction. 'What would happen to that person?'

He sighed. 'There'd be an investigation-'

Zoe shook her head. 'No, there won't. There is no crime. I lost it, now I've found it. Didn't Sheila say this thing was worth twenty-five grand?'

Libby nodded.

'Then it's settled.' Zoe held up the emerald, her eyes flashing with pound signs. 'If there's an investigation, this baby will be tied up forever and it's so going on EBay tonight.'

'But Zo-'

'Bloody ugly thing. Are they hieroglyphics?'

Libby nodded, despairing.

'I'll be back in a bit,' Zoe said, already standing up. 'I have to know if monstrosities like this actually sell.'

Appropriating Zoe's abandoned drink, Libby sat back and sighed. 'How messed up is this Maggie thing?'

'Very. Happy birthday, by the way.' Andy chinked his glass against hers. 'Who borrowed the pendant?'

'Does it matter?'

Andy leaned forwards. 'I did some digging, as requested, trying to find that thing.'

'And?' Did she even care anymore? If someone stood in the middle of the Square announcing they'd murdered Maggie, she doubted anyone would stop to listen.

'What time did the... who was it, Libby?'

'Grace.'

He winced at the name. 'What time did she go into the house?'

'She said about two.'

'It's a farce. Aside from Maggie, we know two other women went into that house and neither of my two, highly unreliable witnesses saw them, though I suppose Becky could've seen Grace leaving out the back door.'

'She doesn't look much like Maggie. Black hair, not grey.'

'It's easy to see the wrong thing at night. Colours change.'

'Who's the other witness?'

'Stan. He said, and I quote, I'd just got in my fourth pint, so it'd be eleven o'clock when she came home. Sadly, he didn't consult a watch. Maggie didn't leave the festival until midnight.'

Libby sighed. 'So what now?'

'There was no burglary. There's no reason to suspect foul play.' Andy shrugged. 'I reckon we let her rest in peace.'

She downed the rest of Zoe's drink. 'So aside from solving crimes that never happened, what've you been up to?'

'Applying for jobs, actually. You were right. This rural PC gig isn't for me.' He glanced down at his pint. 'And Holly's pregnant. Time to move on.'

'What do you want to do?'

'Armed response.'

'You get it?'

He nodded. 'Moving to Carlisle in the New Year.'

Andy was moving on, not punishing himself for failing or pining for what he couldn't have. How different things were since their first date. Libby tucked her hair behind her ears.

Andy laughed. 'Ah, your nervous twitch.'

She blushed. 'I wanted to say sorry.'

'Don't worry about it.'

'No, really. You were right, about my double standards. I am sorry.'

'You should stay away from him. Where is he, anyway?'

'With Grace.' She glanced at the door, willing Patrick to come back. 'They've a few issues to sort out. It turns out she's...'

'Been in love with him since they started working together?'

'You know?'

'It drove Jack mental.' Andy frowned. 'Patrick's trouble, Libby. I tried to warn Grace, but last Christmas... Jack had gone on some stag weekend. Her and Patrick ended up E'd up in here.'

'Did they...' The tea, wine, Bacardi and birthday cake churned in her stomach as Andy nodded.

'And sure enough, he fucked off the next day like it never happened.' He frowned at her, utterly serious. 'Don't mess around with him.'

Libby wanted a cigarette more than she had in the month since she gave up. Patrick had slept with Grace and now he knew Grace was in love with him. Was that why he hadn't come back? Was it time for round two?

*

One thousand pounds for a single photo.

Patrick left Grace's at nine o'clock, as Scott and Clara were leaving the pub. He glanced through the window, but couldn't see any bleached blonde hair. In fact from the birthday party, only Zoe and Andy remained in the pub. At least Libby hadn't buggered off with him.

'Where the hell have you been?' Scott asked.

'Grace's. Had some-' He shook his head, dragging Scott away from Clara's gossip-mongering ears. 'It doesn't matter. Where is she?'

'Gone home. It's fair to say she was shitfaced.'

Patrick swore. 'What happened?'

'She drank a lot of wine. Did you know she can play the piano? She also does a very good Lady Gaga impression and can do pirouette things with a shot of vodka in each hand and one on her head. That girl has some top party tricks.'

Patrick perched on one of the outside tables, staring at the dark windows at Maggie's cottage. 'When did she go?'

'Hour ago. Xander had to carry her home.'

Patrick folded his arms, desperate not to show his jealousy. Bloody Xander.

'Did you tell her?' Scott asked.

'Didn't get chance.'

'Well, you've missed your opportunity tonight.' Scott clapped his back. 'Gotta go.'

'Night, pal.'

Patrick wandered across the Square. One thousand pounds. One grand for a photo. Grace wasn't the only source of Michael Wray's photos, which meant she wouldn't be the only person looking to catch him and Libby together. Even if they kept it quiet, they'd get busted sooner or later. People got lax. Look what happened to her and Robbie. It couldn't happen. Something had to change.

He had to leave. There was nothing in the rules about where he had to be. He could go to Sam's, keep his head down and come back in June. Maybe she'd wait, or maybe she'd have moved on, but that was a risk he'd have to take. He wasn't prepared to risk his entire life.

He wandered past his own house, down the lane to her garden. Maybe she'd be sobering up with a mug of tea. She wasn't. Sod it. He crossed the lawn. Okay, this was borderline stalker. There were no lights on in the house. This would be classed as breaking and entering. Or checking she's okay, not choking on her own vomit. A public service really. He smiled at himself. No, this was stalking. He wanted her to be awake.

'Libby?' he called softly, not wanting to freak her out. 'Libs?'

In the living room, she lay curled up and unconscious on the sofa, her hair covering her face. Trust Xander to do a half-arsed job of taking a girl to bed. Hyssop sat at her feet, watching over her as Patrick lifted her hair off her face. Still breathing. Still wearing her biking gear. Christ, that seemed a week ago. He should go, but he rubbed Hyssop's chin. Libby didn't look very comfortable. He could put her to bed.

This had to be the lamest tactic ever. When he picked her up, would she wake up?

'Libs?' He gently shook her shoulder. 'Libs, you need to go to bed.'

No response. She wasn't waking up. He sighed, disappointment coursing through him, but scooped her up. She had to weigh about seven stone. Carefully, he picked his way around the furniture and headed upstairs. Her head lolled against his shoulder. How the hell did she still smell... pretty? She hadn't had a shower after the ride. Neither had he, but he bet he didn't smell like an English summer's day. There was something odd about the roses.

A stair creaked and she stirred, wrapping her arms around his neck. Oh, this was a bad idea. Her fingers laced into his hair at the back of his neck. A very bad idea.

'...must be dreaming...' she mumbled.

'Yes, you're dreaming. Go back to sleep.' Was this the kind of dream she had? He quite liked it.

It wasn't difficult to discern whose bedroom was whose. The first he came to smelled of that bloody awful, cloying perfume Zoe wore and high heels were scattered around the floor. In the other room, several books were piled up on the bedside table, photos of horses were stuck to the dressing table mirror and it smelled of roses and sweet peas.

I am actually obsessed.

He laid her down, drawing the line at removing any clothes to make her more comfortable. Gently he stroked her hair back.

'Night, princess.'

He kissed her, barely brushing his lips against hers. But sleeping beauty didn't wake.

She was a habit. An addiction.