TICK TOCK RUN (Romantic Mystery Suspense) (3 page)

“I heard music.”  She jangled her keys in the air and said, “Ready to go?”

Something in her tone sounded unconvincing.

Emma tapped my shoulder.  “Heard what?” 

I pointed to the words on the screen hoping to jog Laura’s memory.  “’Tick, tock. 
My number’s up.  Slag.’
  That’s what the man said last night.”  When Laura shrugged her shoulders, I raised my voice.  “Some guy named Daryl died.  He sent a text message to his brother with those exact words, and that was his last communication.  And I mean his last…
ever
.  Don’t you think it’s creepy that I got an email with his final words typed in it?”  I waited for Laura’s memory to return.  Perhaps the alcohol had erased it. 

“It does sound kind of creepy when you put it that way,” Emma conceded.  Then, a few seconds later, she said, “It’s just a prank, a virus or something.  It won’t mean anything.  Chill out.  Just reply telling them not to contact you again, then delete the email.  Shall I do it?”

“The bar was full of weirdoes,” Laura muttered.  “We shouldn’t have gone inside.  My mistake.”

“Laura, do you remember me telling you that my car’s been scratched?”  I raised myself out of the chair and pushed it over to Emma as a hint. 

“Vaguely,” Laura muttered. 

“Poor thing,” Emma said, fluffing my hair.  “You’re not having a very good weekend, are you?  Hopefully we can change that.”  She winked, sat down and clicked on reply.  She wrote a message full of profanities, pressed send and deleted the original email.  She brushed and clapped her palms against each other.  “All done.”

The email existed only in my head now.  Shame Emma couldn’t delete my memory, too.

We piled into Laura’s black BMW convertible and drove the scenic route to town with the roof down.  After eating a late breakfast, we laughed at last night’s photos.  “Jayne needs a new camera,” I said.  “There’s a scratch on the edge of each photo.  Look.”

“It’s not Jayne’s.  It’s Paul’s,” Laura said.  “I let her borrow it because it looked more like the sort a reporter would have.”

I slid a photo of Laura and me, pressed cheek to cheek, into a slot in my purse.  Next, we spent countless hours trudging round the shops, then stopped at a café again late afternoon. 

I collapsed onto a chair and looked at my friends.  I was worn out, and wondering why they’d insisted on shopping until either my legs buckled, or I’d bought a few sexy tops. 

Emma finished her drink.  She kissed us goodbye, gave me another sly wink, which puzzled me, then left to continue shopping on her own.  

I walked back towards the car with Laura.

The bruised sky began dropping rain, so we picked up the pace.  A man bumped me from behind as he barged past on the pavement, knocking my shopping bag out of my hand.  I picked it up off the ground, then faced him expecting an apology.  My stomach dropped heavily.  The face was familiar.  It was that of a muscular man struggling to open his umbrella. 

“Sorry, Ladies,” Carl said, politely.  “Not broken anything, have I?”

I shook my head.

Laura nibbled her lip. 

“Do you know what the time is?” he asked. 

I shook my head again.  “Nope.  Sorry.”

He smiled then walked away, almost ran. 

“I’ve not seen him in ages,” Laura muttered.

“I have.  I see him around town on my lunch break sometimes.”

Carl was my date on the evening Laura’s parents died.  Horrific memories of that night came bulldozing back. 

My mobile rang from inside my handbag and I was glad of the distraction.  To escape the rain, Laura and I dipped under the supermarket overhang.  I answered the call.

“I may have found you a plus one for Laura’s wedding,” my friend Jayne’s bouncy voice chimed through the phone.

“A what?”

“A
date
, silly.  I know you don’t like me using that word.  You’re meeting Phillip tonight at 7pm at the café bar on Queen Street.”

I ran a hand through my hair.  “Please don’t set me up, Jayne.  You never pick the right guys.  Besides, you know I’m not into—”  I gulped.  “
Dating
.”

“Look, everything’s arranged now.  You need to get back out there.  I think you’re ready.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Go on, Chelsea,” Jayne said. 

“No.”

“If you go, I promise I’ll not set you up again, unless you ask me to.”

This part sounded tempting.  “Umm…”

“Nice one.  Seven o’clock.  Have fun.”  She hung up. 

I stared at my phone, rattled. 
Oh, God.  What have I got myself into?
  Jayne was wrong.  I wasn’t ready to put myself back into the dating game.  Not until Laura married Paul on Saturday.  Once she’d made a fresh start, maybe I could. 

My gaze shifted to a sheepish-looking Laura.  “Did you know about this?”

She sucked her lips in.

Of course you did
, I thought, as it dawned on me why she’d taken me clothes shopping.  “So who is he?  Spill.”

We left the shelter, and made a run for it to Laura’s car. 

She began reversing.  “Jayne bumped into a guy she knows in the pole-dancing bar yesterday.  Phillip is one of his friends.  I don’t know him, but Jayne said he’s great, just needs cheering up.”

I groaned.  “Cheering up?  Screw this!  I’m cancelling.”  I lifted my bag to get my mobile, secretly pleased to have an excuse to call the date off.

Laura removed her hand from the gear stick and set it on my arm.  “Give him a chance.  You deserve to find someone wonderful, like I have with Paul.  You don’t really want to stay single forever, do you?”

I thought about the question and gave a little shake of my head.

“I don’t blame you for what happened last year, Chelsea.  I’m not stupid.  I’m aware that’s why you avoid dating these days, and why you stopped seeing Carl.”

I gazed out of the window and didn’t respond.

“It’s like you’ve put a whole section of your life on hold to punish yourself.  Bad things happen and sometimes we can’t control them.  You’ve helped get my life back on track.  It’s time for you to do the same.”

“Carl wasn’t my type anyway.  Too many muscles and too few brain cells.”

“That’s beside the point.  Anyway, I would be
so
thrilled if you at least try to go out with a man again.” 

“I’ve been on dates this year.”

Laura rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, but we had to trick you into it.  And then you refused to answer the poor guy’s phone calls.  At least this guy’s not one of our friends.”  She glanced at the time.  “It’s too late to cancel.”

I dropped my bag in the foot well.  “Fine.  I’ll go if it will stop you all pestering.”  I didn’t hold out much hope, and I’d certainly never pictured my future husband to be someone who’d frequent pole-dancing joints. 

Laura parked outside my house and we dashed inside. 

“I’ll wait down here while you change.”  Laura entered my dining room.  “Do you want me to switch a light on?  It’ll be dark by the time you get home.”

“I doubt I’ll be out that long,” I muttered to myself, climbing the stairs.  “No, thanks,” I shouted down to her.  “I’m saving energy.” 

After changing into my new pink top, but applying minimal makeup in some kind of protest, I walked downstairs.  Laura insisted on dropping me off in town.  She knew I’d be nervous about travelling by car on a date, after last time.

We pulled to the curb for the start of my torturous evening.

Laura practically pushed me out of her car.  “Go on.  You might enjoy yourself.” 

“Thanks for the lift.”  I slammed the door shut and guessed she wouldn’t drive off until I entered the bar.  I was right.  Laura drove away the very second I pushed the door open.  I smiled, knowing she’d be in the arms of her fiancé shortly.  Paul would have been missing her all day. 

I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window by the entrance and scanned the room.  The clientele was mixed, the atmosphere classy and relaxed, but not pretentious.  A short guy with spiked hair, about my age, late twenties, waved on the approach.  “Are you Chelsea?”  His voice sounded serious, nervous.

Jayne must have described my appearance very well. 

With every step he took nearer to me, my heart thumped with dread.  “Yeah, I’m Chelsea.  Hi.”

“Thought so.  Hi.  I’m Phillip.”

For a second, I thought I recognised him, then moved towards the table I’d seen him come from, my feet dragging heavily across the floor.  I took a seat and decided to give this date a chance now that I was here.  

Phillip ordered our drinks.  Once the preambles were finished, his mind seemed to drift with every sip.  His face struck me as a solid mask of misery.  His lips curved downward, and tight lines striped his forehead as he picked at a coaster.  Striking up a conversation proved difficult to the point of impossible.  Laura had warned me that he needed cheering up, but this was off the scale.  Perhaps being out of the dating circuit had caused me to lose my touch.

“Seen any great movies, lately?” I asked.  “Or do you know any jokes?  I could do with a laugh.”

He shook his head but didn’t speak.

After counting the bubbles rising in my glass, I racked my brain for excuses to leave: left bath running, feel sick, need to kill Jayne for setting me up.  I almost laughed, before realising in a mood such as his, he must not have wanted to be here either. 

I put on my best carefree smile, threw my arms in the air and said, “This is crazy.  We should tell our friends to stop with the match-making.”  I hoped I’d judged the situation right.  I waited, gnawed the inside of my cheek, almost regretting what I’d said because he took a while to answer. 

“I agree.”  His solemn face opened into a surprising, attractive smile.  It suited him. 

I breathed deeply in relief, not unlike tasting fresh air for the first time.  “At least we’re both being honest now.”

“I know.  This has been a disaster.  No reflection on you.”

 “Oh, don’t worry,” I said, relaxing into my chair.  “I’m relieved.  I haven’t been on a proper...
date
in ages.”

“That explains your frown when you walked in.”

“That obvious?”  I laughed.  “I’m glad we’re on the same page now.  I didn’t much fancy sitting here feeling awkward.  I’ve had more fun at funerals.”

To my surprise, his smile vanished.  His chest puffed so broad that I thought a couple of his shirt buttons would pop off and strike me in the face.

I raised my glass to my lips.  “Sorry.  Did I say something to upset you?” 

A maddening few seconds of silence ensued.

“It’s not your fault.”  He fiddled with the cardboard drink coaster again.  Tore a strip off.  “The thing is, I was at a funeral last week.”

I spat my drink back into the glass.

“A close friend of mine died, which is why I’m not in the mood for a date.  My mates pushed me into this.  I only came here to stop them pestering me.”

“Me and my big mouth.” 
Ditto,
I thought, while wishing I could shrink into my seat.  “I’m so sorry.”  Watching a muscle twitch in his jaw had me picking at my nails.  I bit back the words,
‘Can this get any worse?’ 
“I didn’t mean to make a joke.  It just came out.  If I’d known—”