Sarah Painter - The Secrets Of Ghosts

The detective stood up and they shook hands. Katie had inherited a less-than-positive opinion of Patrick Allen from her aunt Gwen, but at that moment she felt sorry for the man. His hair was sticking up at the back as if he’d got out of bed to come to the hotel and he looked grey with concern. Maybe he wasn’t the heartless suit Gwen had always described him as.

‘We’re not a chain,’ Patrick was saying. ‘We can’t take this kind of publicity, and in this financial climate...’ He seemed under the impression that the detective was a journalist. ‘I don’t want a circus.’

‘There is no reason for alarm, sir,’ the detective said. He started to say something about it looking ‘very routine’ but they moved away as they were speaking and Katie didn’t catch it properly.

‘Miss Harper.’ The police lady opposite was leaning forward, her notebook balanced on one knee. ‘Can I ask you again to think if you saw the deceased argue with anybody this evening?’

Katie snapped back to the conversation. ‘Wasn’t it a heart attack or something? Why are you asking that?’

‘We don’t know the cause of death at this time and we need to get as complete a picture as possible of Mr Cole’s last few hours.’

Those words — ‘last few hours’ — flipped a switch inside Katie and, at once, she felt incredibly sad. That man, Oliver Cole, ate his salmon starter and drank the over-priced fizzy wine and chatted to people with no idea that he was enjoying the very last few hours of his existence. She reached into her shirt and touched her necklace as another thought hit her: with the Harper family intuition, would she be as clueless? Iris certainly seemed very prepared for her passing: she’d sorted out her journals, left notes for Gwen... But was that better? Preferable? How did it feel when you knew exactly how many more seconds there were to go on the clock? Suddenly, Katie really wanted to get out of the overly warm living room. She wanted to go back to her flat and sleep for a day. Maybe two. She focused on the policewoman, who was looking a bit irritated. ‘That’s everything I can tell you. It’s time to wrap this up.’

The woman’s eyes slid over Katie’s face as if searching for purchase. Then she said: ‘It’s probably about time to wrap this up. If you think of anything else, anything at all—’ She held out a business card.

‘I’ll call you,’ Katie said, getting up. She walked swiftly out of the room before the policewoman regained her senses and went to the staff room to collect her denim jacket and bag. Katie felt shaky. For a horrible moment she’d thought the policewoman had been going to ignore her suggestion. Light distraction or suggestion was one of the basic skills of the Harper women, as natural and easy as telling a white lie or reading cards to help a friend make a decision. It was one of the first hints that she was a Harper, turning up when she was just fourteen, and as much a part of her as the colour of her hair. What if each skill were stripped away until there was nothing left? What if, rather than coming into her true power, she was experiencing the disintegration of the abilities she already had?

The staff entrance was behind the kitchen so she said goodbye to Jo on her way through.

‘You sure you’re all right?’ Jo frowned at her, her pixie-cropped hair sticking up at odd angles where she’d had her hat pinned all evening. ‘Here.’ Jo disappeared inside her walk-in fridge and returned with half a cheesecake on a cling-filmed plate.

‘Thank you.’ Katie was touched by Jo’s kindness and it made her want to cry. She got out of the kitchen before Jo could see her eyes filling up, but it was a close-run thing.

The hot weather was holding and the night air was freakishly warm, even though it was past eleven o’clock. The curtains in the hotel were drawn and blocks of red-tinged light hit the gravel that circled the house, but the driveway was a pitch-black tunnel. She’d told Patrick last year that he needed to put more of the solar ground lights along it but he clearly hadn’t been listening. As soon as she stepped away from the lights of the main building the shape of the low garden walls and clipped hedges took on a grey and menacing appearance, becoming strange and other-worldly in the half-light.

As a result she didn’t notice the figure sitting on the steps that led from the upper lawn until the very last moment and she nearly kicked him in the back.

She recovered her balance without falling over him. ‘Jesus! You scared me.’

‘Sorry.’ The chicken thief stood up. He was too close for comfort. Especially in the dark, deserted garden. Katie took a step back.

He stepped away, too, as if aware of her discomfort, giving her more space. ‘I’m sorry I startled you.’

‘Why are you loitering out here?’ She didn’t mean to sound so abrupt, but it hadn’t been the best evening.

He held up an unlit cigarette. ‘I’m wrestling with my demon.’

‘Ah,’ Katie said. ‘I’ve heard it’s harder to give up nicotine than heroin. Or is it cocaine?’

He shrugged.

‘Why aren’t you in there?’ Katie gestured to the hotel. ‘The police want to speak to you.’

‘To everyone, surely. Not me specifically.’ He tilted his head back. ‘You look better. Are you feeling better?’

‘You did find the deceased,’ Katie said. ‘I think that makes you a key witness or something.’

‘You found him first.’

‘And I’ve spoken to them,’ Katie pointed out.

‘Good for you. Very public spirited.’

‘Seriously. A man is dead. You ought to—’

‘I prefer to keep a low profile.’

Katie’s mouth twisted. ‘I hardly think they’ll care about you crashing the wedding.’

‘You noticed that, huh?’ He pulled out a packet and stuck the unlit cigarette inside. ‘And I thought I was so stealthy.’

‘It wasn’t that obvious. I was watching you, though—’ Katie broke off. That was an embarrassing thing to say. He looked amused, which didn’t help.

‘That’s good to know.’

‘Because you seemed dodgy,’ Katie said. ‘Not for any other reason.’

He smirked. ‘I’m Max, by the way.’

‘Katie. So, big drama tonight.’ She indicated the looming building behind them.

‘Yep.’ Max sat down again, his elbows on his knees.

‘What were you doing in Mr Cole’s room?’

‘I was just passing, the door was open and I heard a noise.’

‘Did you know him? The one who—’

‘No.’ Max shook his head quickly.

He was lying. Katie felt sick. It was unlikely that he had anything to do with the poor guy having a heart attack, but still. He was a liar. And he crashed the wedding which made him a thief, too. She felt a crushing sensation of guilt. She ought to have told the police about him. Ought to go back inside and tell them right now. He’d just lie to them, of course. And he seemed to be awfully good at it.

Like it or not, he was her responsibility. She sat down on the step next to him, probably a little too close for comfort but she’d always found this particular trick easier if she was physically near to the person she was trying to read.

She took a deep breath, concentrating hard, and trying to ignore the fact that she was close enough to catch the scent coming from his skin. ‘Did you have something to do with his death?’

She watched him closely.

He frowned. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Just answer the question,’ Katie said. Her voice was calm.

‘No,’ Max said. He looked disgusted. ‘No, I didn’t have anything to do with his death.’

He was telling the truth. Thank God. It wasn’t his expression or the tone of his voice or the way his eyes met hers, it was something else. A certainty. Another of the Harper family intuitions but one that came in handy more often than most. ‘Sorry.’ She smiled, more at ease now. ‘I’m just a bit shaken up, I guess.’