The Dead Dog Day (11 page)

‘We're in the kitchen!' Rosie's distant voice sang out.

‘Be there in a mo – just going to unload the presents.'

Cora wheeled her case into the sitting room and stopped, awed. Rosie and Alistair had been doing up their six-bedroom Regency house, just a few streets away from Cora's flat, for the past three years – a slow process, which had gathered pace in recent months as Rosie's florist shop and Alistair's furniture design business had finally started to make real money. The large sitting room at the front of the house had been the most recently transformed, with almond white walls, dark red sofas scattered with cream and taupe cushions and a shiny walnut floor but, while Cora had seen it before, it hadn't looked quite this stunning. An eight-foot Norway Spruce wafted a soft fragrance across the room, its branches heavy with red, beaded baubles and sparkling, glass butterflies. Holly branches, artfully entwined with ivy and tiny, maroon and white fairy lights, trailed over the fireplace. On the table in the corner, candles flickered on a bed of snowy pine branches. Bowls of nuts and oranges sat on various shelves, surrounded by delicately scented tea lights. The whole room glowed, and Cora thought she had never seen anything more cosy and welcoming.

‘Rosie, you've surpassed yourself!' she yelled.

‘Thank yoooou!' Rosie's voice echoed from the kitchen.

Cora unzipped her case to tip out her gifts and added them to the tottering pile already under the tree. Then she returned the case to the hall and followed her nose, throwing her jacket onto the groaning coat rack as she passed. She stopped again as she reached the kitchen door. The vast steamy room at the back of the house was filled with an aroma so rich and festive it could have been no other time of year. The old pine worktops were crammed with food – fragrant mince pies fresh from the oven sat on a cooling rack next to an enormous fruity Christmas pudding, while bottles of red and white wine and port jostled for position with an entire fresh salmon, a pot of cranberry sauce, and a bowl of creamy brandy butter. On the wooden table in the centre of the room, a colossal, and as yet uncooked turkey, oozing stuffing, sat nakedly beside a pile of shortbread and a big white Christmas cake with a wonky Santa sledging across its snowy icing.

‘Oh – my – goodness!' Cora suddenly felt ravenous. ‘I hope we are
all
going to forget being sensible for the next few days – this is some spread, Rosie.'

She picked up a slice of shortbread and took a bite, then licked the sugary crumbs from her fingers. Rosie, who was unpacking Cora's offerings, oohed and aahed as she added them to the feast.

‘Ooooh! I adore these cupcakes! We might have to demolish these right now …'

Nicole, corkscrew in hand, peered over her shoulder.

‘Yum! Pass me those glasses, Cora?'

Cora picked five champagne flutes from the stack at the end of the table, and Nicole filled them. The boys appeared just as they were clinking, and they all stood in a circle and smiled at each other.

‘Well – Happy Christmas, everyone!' Rosie, cheeks pink and eyes bright, took a guilty sip and patted the little bump under her green velvet dress. The others glugged happily, Alistair slightly less dusty than earlier in a clean Aran sweater, Nicole slinky as usual in a long, black skirt and crocheted tunic, Will casual, blue shirt untucked over jeans, his arm around his wife's waist.

‘Happy Christmas!' they chorused, and Cora felt tears prick her eyes as she looked at her friends, the two couples, so happy and secure. She turned away quickly, on the pretext of refilling the glasses. It would be a happy Christmas, it really would. And maybe next year, she'd have a partner to share it with too. Preferably one who wasn't wanted for murder.

Later, the girls lolled on the sofas in the candlelit sitting room, full and contented. Will and Alistair were next door in the playroom, arguing over the table football with bottles of beer. The kids, exhausted and happy, had been put to bed, the three of them cuddling up together in Ava's room – ‘the only five-year-old I know who has a double bed!' Cora had exclaimed, as she'd kissed their weary little faces goodnight with a teeny sense of relief. They were definitely all lovely children, but she'd rather had enough for one day.

Now Rosie sprawled on one sofa, eyes closed, looking worn out but happy. Nicole and Cora sat at opposite ends of the other, Nicole sipping red wine, Cora still on champagne.

‘I still can't believe you turned down Benjamin Boland.' Nicole carefully put her glass down on the wooden floor, stretched luxuriously and lay back on her cushions. ‘You could be off spending Christmas in some glamorous hideaway with him if you'd played your cards right. Incurable diarrhoea!' She poked Cora with her long toes.

Cora grimaced. ‘Don't remind me! I'd rather be here with you guys for Christmas though, honestly! But, yeah, ugh … I really did blow it, didn't I? I'm hopeless.' She shook her head at the memory.

‘You are. You're a total numpty.'

‘Yes, I'm a numpty. I'm a numpty from Numpty Land. In fact, if there was a Queen of the Numpties, I'd be it.'

Nicole snorted, and Cora started to giggle. They were both a bit drunk. Rosie, who wasn't, joined in with the sniggering anyway.

‘You are funny, Cora. You're bound to bump into him again, though – I mean, you know where he hangs out now, don't you? And you're always up and down to London for work, aren't you, so you might be able to salvage it.'

Cora sighed. ‘Maybe. I doubt he'll come near me again though. And I'm going to be so busy, especially until Jeanette's killer is found.' She covered her face with a cushion and groaned.

‘You're a disaster. And don't you get lip gloss on my cream cushion, Queen of the Numpties!'

‘Sorry.' Cora put the cushion down again, and they lapsed into a companionable silence, which was suddenly ruined by a triumphant roar from the playroom next door, followed by a ‘Na na na-na-na!' in Alistair's deep voice. Rosie sat up and banged on the wall and the noise subsided.

‘Those boys! Big kids – they'll wake the children!'

She collapsed again. ‘I'm exhausted. Shall we go to bed? It's nearly midnight, look. And we have another day of drinking and debauchery tomorrow.'

‘Good idea.'

Cora and Nicole heaved themselves off the sofa and all three of them waved goodnight to the boys from the door of the playroom and tiptoed up the stairs.

They all stopped outside Ava's bedroom and peeped in. The children were snuggled together like kittens, Alexander lying sideways, his soft, blond head on Ava's chest, Elliot's stout little arm draped across Alexander's legs. Nicole and Rosie had a brief, whispered debate about whether to rearrange their sleeping offspring, but decided against it. If they woke them now, they'd never get them down again. Back on the landing they all hugged.

‘See you on Boxing Day!'

Cora shut the door of her room, and sat on the edge of the bed as she slowly wiped off her makeup, her heart twisting a little. Today had almost been like a little break from reality – the reality she knew she would have to face again tomorrow, the reality of a murdered boss and a missing ex-boyfriend and weird Twitter messages. She'd surreptitiously checked her phone about fifty times today, but there had been nothing from Justin. A ‘happy Christmas' would have been nice, she thought wryly. Although an explanation of exactly what the hell he'd been doing when he became a potential suspect in a murder case would have been even better.

She shook her head to dispel the thought and gazed around her. This room hadn't been done up yet, but she liked it. The faded wallpaper, wide blue and white stripes, at least matched the worn blue carpet. Rosie had put a fresh navy duvet on the bed and filled the white painted fireplace with candles, flickering now like drowsy eyelashes. Cora pulled on her pyjamas, ran a comb through her hair and went to blow the candles out.

She paused by the window on her way back to bed, pulling aside the slightly tatty white curtains. The street outside was silent and empty, a light drizzle softening the yellow light from the street lamps. Suddenly a fox appeared, snuffling around the gatepost opposite, its sharp nose worrying the nooks and crannies, looking for dinner. A car drove past, and in its headlights the fox's eyes flashed emerald green. It slunk into the shadows and was gone.

Urban foxes. There was something fascinating about them, Cora thought, those clever, wild creatures scavenging in town centres when everyone was asleep, surviving and thriving so far outside their natural environment. She climbed into bed, recoiling as her feet hit hot rubber. Rosie thought of everything! She pulled the hot water bottle up and hugged it against her chest as she sank into the soft, old mattress. Out on the landing, she heard creaks and whispers as Will and Alistair came up to join their wives, and then all was silent.

Before sleep slowly overcame her, Cora's thoughts drifted yet again back to Justin. Damn, she missed him. And yes, there was undoubtedly something very odd going on. But she was as certain as she could be of one thing – her ex-boyfriend was not a killer. Behaving suspiciously, yes. Very. But capable of murder?

‘No. Definitely not,' she murmured into the darkness. But who then? Who on earth killed Jeanette? Who could have wandered through the newsroom, unremarked upon, made their way into the editor's office without challenge, and then left again? Cora's final thought as her heavy eyelids finally closed was a chilling one. Could the murderer really, possibly, be somebody she knew?

14

Wednesday 27
^th
December

‘BRRRRRR! BRRRRRR! BRRRRRR!'

On her bedside table, Cora's mobile was ringing like a thing possessed. Dragging herself out of a deep sleep, she glanced at her alarm clock before she pressed the call button: 1.30 a.m., and she'd only gone to bed at 11.

Here we go, she thought.

‘Hello. News desk, I presume?'

‘Morning, Cora. Happy Wednesday – sorry to start you so early.' Sam sounded apologetic.

Cora groaned, sinking back onto her pillow in the inky darkness and pulling the duvet over her head to make the most of her last few seconds in bed. ‘Where am I going then? I'm obviously in for a long drive if you're calling this early.'

‘We need you to go and find snow, I'm afraid. Reports coming in of quite a bit starting to fall in Derbyshire, possibly around Buxton? We're not sure really though. See what you can get. The crew are going to meet you at Frankley services and you can go in convoy from there. We're hoping for lives from six. Sorry babe. Oh – and we'll get you to do an update on Jeanette later too – I'll fill you in when you're properly awake. Thanks. Speak later.'

Cora sighed. ‘I'm on my way. Later.'

She put the phone down and shut her eyes for a moment in her warm cocoon, still trying to put off getting out of bed. Her job was a pain in the bum sometimes. While the producers in the newsroom in London were able to get
some
guidance from the Met Office and the programme's weather forecaster, it was pretty hard for anyone to
guarantee
there would be snow in a particular location while the show was on air. So the only way to make sure a reporter was standing there in snow was for that reporter to get out there and find it. Cora exhaled loudly and grumpily, poked a hand from under the duvet and flicked the light on. Living alone had its advantages – Justin would have been huffing and sighing by now. Blinking, she rolled out of bed and, already shivering, headed for the bathroom.

A few hours later she was huddled in her car, heater blasting, as she poured the first cup of tea of the day from the new flask Nathan had given her for Christmas. He and Rodney, parked up behind her on the grass verge of a twisty road in the middle of the Peak District, were having a quick pre-live snooze, but a little pool of yellow light emanated from the truck, and inside she could see Scott on the phone, sorting out satellite clearance. It was dark as a dungeon outside, but at least there was a fine dusting of snow, and it was still falling gently. By six, there should be enough to make a decent live. There had flipping better be, after that icy drive through the night. Cora sipped her tea and watched the flakes landing softly on her windscreen like tiny white feathers. It was ridiculous, she thought, how excited the programme got about snow. In fact, about any bad weather at all. Still, at least they'd managed to find a live location pretty easily this time – it was even more stressful when six o'clock was approaching and they were still tearing around, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, to broadcast from.

She opened the door a crack and tipped the dregs of the tea out, shivering as the icy air rushed into the car. Then she shoved the cup back into her glove compartment and looked at the clock on her dashboard. Ten past five. She opened the door of the car, stepped out gingerly, walked carefully round to the boot of her car and started rooting. Her Emu boots, definitely needed those today. She pushed aside a waterproof coat and trousers and some long, green waders and finally found her red fleece and a matching pair of thermal gloves. Shrugging the fleece on with some difficulty – she was already wearing a long-sleeved thermal vest and a thick polo neck – she zipped it to the neck, slammed the boot closed again and headed warily to the truck, pausing on the way to knock on Nathan and Rodney's car windows. They gave her sleepy thumbs up signs, both grimacing at the prospect of the morning ahead.

In the van, Scott was raising the satellite dish.

‘Everything OK?' Cora slammed the sliding door behind her.

‘Fine, fine. So – good Christmas? Justin a dim and distant nasty memory?'

Cora settled into the passenger seat and started pulling off her trainers to replace them with the boots.

‘Yes, he damn well is. I am officially forgetting he ever existed,' Cora lied.