Kiss Marry Kill, page 14
‘I got pushed out of my company today,’ he says, refusing to look at her. ‘They called me in just to kick me out. Claimed that Cynthia’s death and my arrest have tarnished our reputation. It’s my fucking company.’ Ade slams his fist against his leg, and Ife winces on his behalf. ‘Anyway, I thought you should know.’
He returns his attention to the television and raises the volume. Ife grabs the remote from his hand and turns it off.
‘Aren’t you going to fight this?’
Ade looks at her then, and his resigned expression tells her everything she needs to know.
‘There’s nothing I can do except take the payout,’ he says.
‘Have you spoken to Robert?’
‘Robert can’t help me, Ife.’ It sounds as if he isn’t just talking about his business. ‘You should probably start looking for a new job, too.’
She wants to tell him that it’ll be okay, that they’ll be fine, but with a baby on the way and two unemployed parents, there’s only so much hope she can have, especially when Ade has already given up.
‘Maybe just give him a call. See what he says,’ she tries again.
‘There’s no point,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Besides, it’s what I deserve. I’m just sorry I dragged you into this.’ He gestures for the remote, and Ife reluctantly hands it back to him.
It’s not like him to give up so easily and yet now he’s blaming himself for something they both know he didn’t do. It feels strange, and Ife decides right then to resume her search for the truth. His strange behaviour, his outburst at Mama, and now this, all make it seem like he knows more than he’s letting on. Since his arrest, she’s been worried that he was the one who killed Cynthia – but maybe all this time he was protecting someone else.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
One week before Cynthia’s disappearance
‘Turn around again,’ Valerie said, the following evening.
‘No.’ Cynthia applied a touch more lip gloss for good measure, and Valerie’s eyebrows shot up.
‘You looking to kiss someone with those lips?’
‘Just you, my love.’
‘Why would you say such a horrible thing?’
She fluffed the back of Cynthia’s hair and smiled at her in the mirror. As promised, her braid-out had turned out beautifully. Coily spirals formed a mane around her head, and Cynthia was impressed by how healthy her hair was looking. She usually kept it tied up in a bun of twists or an Afro puff, so it was nice to see that the small fortune she was spending on natural hair products wasn’t completely in vain.
‘So, where’s this Mark guy taking you?’
‘Some music thing.’ Cynthia shrugged. ‘One of his clients has a gig at Midnight Blues, and he asked if I wanted to come along.’
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘It’s not like that.’ Cynthia studied her outfit in the mirror. Her silver halterneck dress fell well above her knees, and she’d coupled it with a pair of matching silver heels. ‘He’s hung up on some other woman. Basically blew up his marriage for her.’
She had to admit, she was looking forward to going out. To doing something other than dodging Ade’s calls and text messages, which hadn’t died down despite the fact that she’d already told him she’d go and see him later in the week, once she was back in Windchapel. Which reminded her, she needed to send Mark Valerie’s address. She grabbed her phone from the bed and shot Mark a message.
‘You’ll be fine,’ Valerie said, catching Cynthia’s frown. ‘Just look at that dress.’
Cynthia flipped her hair with her hand. ‘I know, right?’
‘You’re all grown up, little sis.’
‘It’s only natural.’
‘If only Dad could see you now.’
Cynthia rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t start.’
‘You should give him a call. Go see him while you’re here.’
‘I’m not his prodigal daughter, Valerie. I don’t want or need his approval.’
‘I know, but—’
‘But nothing, Val. If he wants to talk to me, he has my number.’
The doorbell rang. Cynthia was so eager to get away from the conversation that she barely registered how quickly Mark had arrived.
‘We’ll talk more later,’ Valerie said, giving Cynthia a hug. ‘Go make Ade jealous.’
Mark had sent a chauffeur to pick her up, and when she slid inside the car, there was a bottle of champagne and an envelope waiting for her.
Enjoy. I don’t do this often. M x
Cynthia smiled. She knew Mark had acquired some wealth from a handful of indie hits he’d produced, as well as his investments, but he rarely flaunted it. The fact that he was doing this for her made her feel warm inside. Whoever his secret woman was, she was one lucky lady.
With a satisfied sigh, Cynthia poured herself a glass of champagne and sat back on the plush leather seat. An R&B song she didn’t recognise emerged from the speakers, and she asked the driver if it was one of Mark’s.
‘Yes madam, the whole album,’ he replied. ‘He asked me to play it. Thought you might like it.’
Twenty minutes later, they parked outside Midnight Blues, an intimate music venue Cynthia used to dream of gigging at.
A woman in a little black dress and no shoes took her name and told her to go down the flight of stairs and turn left. The walls that led to the basement had photos of artists that had played there, some of them well known. Cynthia felt a pang of nostalgia at what could have been.
The room was dimly lit, with fairy lights scattered all around. A musician was on stage singing with her guitar, a dozen or so people standing in front of the stage waving their arms to the music.
On the other side of the room was a bar and several red padded booths, most of which were empty. Cynthia made her way over to them, all the while scanning the darkness for Mark. She spotted him engrossed in conversation at the bar. Cynthia slid into one of the booths and texted him to let him know that she’d arrived. She watched him as he took his phone out of his pocket and read the message. His head shot up, and he looked left and right until his eyes finally settled on hers. Cynthia gave him a little finger wave. He said something to the woman he was speaking to and made his way over.
‘You made it,’ he said, settling into the seat opposite her.
‘Nice touch with the chauffeur,’ she told him. ‘Thank you.’
Mark smiled shyly, shifting in his seat, and Cynthia felt his knee accidentally brushing hers under the table. ‘I figured you deserved a treat after everything that’s happened.’
‘Yeah, well …’ Cynthia let her words drift off, not wanting to talk about Ade. ‘You look good, by the way. Never thought I’d ever see you in an actual shirt.’
Mark had swapped his usual uniform of Crocs and a hoodie for a dark-blue dress shirt and loafers.
‘I try,’ he said, his smile unwavering. ‘Ready to dance?’ Mark stood and held out his hand. Cynthia took it and let him lead her to a corner near the stage.
‘Wow,’ Mark whispered when he caught sight of her outfit, and Cynthia felt her face heat up. Normally she would have said something innocent yet flirty, but suddenly she was feeling shy.
‘He’s good, isn’t he?’ Mark said, nodding towards the musician who’d replaced the woman playing when Cynthia had arrived.
‘Mmm.’ Cynthia nodded. His voice was soulful, but she couldn’t get behind the lyrics. ‘Not my kind of thing, but yeah.’
‘Go on … what’s your type of music then?’
‘It’s not the music per se,’ Cynthia mused. ‘He just seems really naive. All that talk about everlasting love.’
Mark gave her a sad smile. ‘Still haven’t spoken to Ade?’
‘He’s tried, but … I guess I’m not ready to face him yet.’
‘Understandable. All me and Emma do when we get together is fight.’
Cynthia considered asking him about his mystery woman, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He’d already told her that he hadn’t had an affair, and she didn’t want to offend him. Instead, she asked him where his bracelets were.
‘Oh,’ Mark looked down at his bare wrist and shrugged.
‘I don’t usually wear them in this crowd. Most people don’t get it.’
He closed the space between them so that they were almost touching. Something unspeakable sizzled between them. To Cynthia’s surprise, Mark began undoing the top button of his shirt. She moved to stop him, to tell him not here, but then she caught sight of the black necklace he was trying to show her.
‘Obsidian,’ he said, rubbing the rock between his fingers. ‘It’s one thing to wear it for show, it’s quite another to actually believe in this stuff. So, when I’m not home’ – he tilted his head – ‘Windchapel home … I keep it under wraps.’
They both returned their attention to the musician, who was slowing down his set, the heavy drums making way for the piano. Couples and strangers cuddled together. Mark gestured for her to come closer, and Cynthia slipped into his arms. He placed his hands gently on her hips, and Cynthia rested her head on his shoulder, letting the music transport her away from the party, away from Mark, to a place she’d rather not go. Where she and Ade were dancing, just like this, on a beach, at a wedding, at a concert.
Even though Ade hated dancing, was too self-conscious to really enjoy it, he had always indulged her. She would miss that about him, his willingness to look like a damn fool for her. Those moments had become fewer and fewer, especially in the past few months. But in the early days, he would have done almost anything for her. She wanted that Ade back, but she worried that he was long gone.
‘I’m glad you’re okay,’ Mark whispered in her ear. The hairs on the back of her neck and arms prickled. ‘And I’m glad you came. This would have been a lot less fun without you.’
The music fell away, and so did Mark’s arms.
‘I’ll be back,’ Mark told her. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’
Not wanting to stand there alone, Cynthia went to get herself a drink.
‘Blue Lagoon?’ the bartender asked.
‘How did you—?’
‘Mark. He told me to keep them coming.’
Cynthia accepted the drink, vaguely wondering how Mark had guessed what she would like.
As she sipped, her thoughts returned to Ade, who almost always needed to be reminded of what tea to buy. She’d messaged him earlier and agreed to have dinner with him at the house in a few days’ time. Mark was meeting with the potential studio investors then too, and she wanted to be in the area just in case they wanted to talk to her. She was already dreading dinner with Ade, but she knew it had to be done, that she needed to put this chapter of her life to rest. It was time to move on.
Someone tapped her shoulder.
‘Holy crap. It is you.’
Cynthia squinted at the man in front of her. He was dressed casually in dark jeans and a bomber jacket, his short twists falling over one side of his face in a fringe. But it was his dark-brown eyes, familiar yet somehow older, that were most recognisable.
‘Francis?’
The last time she’d seen him, he’d been breaking up with her to please his pastor, her father. A wave of betrayal washed over her, catching her off guard. She had thought she’d forgiven him, thought that she’d moved on from the hurt. So why did she feel like she was nineteen years old again?
‘Ah, so you do remember me,’ he said, looking pleased with himself. His voice was still the same. R&B smooth with a little bit of bass to it. He’d been a good singer back then too, although he’d never expressed a desire to pursue music professionally. ‘I heard you went down to London to make a name for yourself. And now you’re back, yeah?’
‘I’m just here visiting my sister,’ Cynthia said, trying to see if she could spot Mark. He was back at the bar, talking to the same woman he was with earlier. Cynthia stared at him, willing him with her eyes to look up.
‘Valerie, right? I saw her at church the other day.’
Cynthia returned her attention to him.
‘You still go?’
‘Yeah, well.’ Francis rubbed the back of his neck, looking guilty. ‘I sacrificed a lot for it. Everything, really.’
Cynthia could feel an apology coming on, and she snuck another glance at Mark, who finally looked up. She gave him a ‘help me’ look, and he held up a finger to let her know he’d be there in a minute.
‘Oh, you’re here with someone,’ Francis said, following her gaze. ‘Some of the old gang are here too.’ Francis pointed in the opposite direction, to a group of three sitting in one of the booths. ‘You can join us if you like. They’d love to see you.’
‘Heeey.’ Mark arrived just in time, placing a warm hand on Cynthia’s bare shoulder and pulling her close.
‘Mark, this is Francis. Francis … Mark.’
Mark stuck out his hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’ But Francis just stared at him, confused.
‘Chris?’ he said. ‘I didn’t know you two were together.’
‘Excuse me?’ Mark looked at Francis, really looked at him, and then suddenly went pale.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said slowly. ‘I’m not sure what you mean?’
‘Wait, do you two know each other?’ Cynthia asked, looking from one to the other.
‘No,’ Mark said, before Francis, who was looking at her like she’d lost her mind, could respond. ‘Actually,’ Mark continued, glancing down at his phone. ‘We need to go.’
He pulled Cynthia away, almost tugging off her arm in the process, dragging her back up the stairs. Despite Cynthia’s protest that he was hurting her, he didn’t stop until they were outside.
The car park was dark, except for a few street lights which were just starting to come on.
‘What the hell was that about?’ Cynthia rubbed her sore arm.
‘Sorry,’ Mark replied. ‘I completely forgot I need to be somewhere else. Come on, I’ll drop you home.’
He was lying, of course he was lying, but Cynthia couldn’t understand why.
‘How do you know Francis?’
‘I don’t.’
‘It seems like he knows you.’
‘I guess I have one of those faces.’
‘Why did he call you Chris?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Mark.’
‘Cynthia.’ His laugh was strained. ‘It’s fine. Happens to me all the time. I bet there’s a guy out there called Chris who’s just as frustrated as I am.’
Mark unlocked his car and opened the passenger door for her.
‘You coming?’
‘Not until you tell me the truth.’
Anger flashed across his face.
‘I’ve told you everything,’ he said. ‘And I’m not going to stand here and let you accuse me of being a liar.’
‘I’m not—’
‘Good,’ Mark interrupted. ‘Then drop it, and let’s go.’
When Cynthia didn’t move, Mark slammed the car door shut.
‘Fine, you can walk. Or better yet, get Francis to take you.’
He got into the driver’s seat and slammed that door too. The engine roared to life.
‘Why are you being like this?’
‘Last chance, Cynthia.’
‘Just tell me the truth. I promise I won’t get mad.’
At that, Mark pulled out of his parking space and sped away, leaving Cynthia alone in the car park.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Ife, present day
Ife is late. As she sneaks in through the door of Nyara’s café, she spots an older man on the makeshift stage at the back, reading a passage from the Bible.
She knows she shouldn’t be here, knows she doesn’t belong here amongst Cynthia’s mourners, but sitting at home waiting for either her or Ade to get arrested is no longer an option, especially now that Ade has been removed from his company and she is likely on her way out too.
Someone here, amongst Cynthia’s closest friends and family, must know something about what happened to her in the lead-up to her disappearance, to her murder.
And so, Ife makes a beeline to the only empty seat in a row of teenagers then scans the room for someone she might know.
Nyara is sitting adjacent to the stage, managing the music system which has been moved from its previous spot. The stage itself has become the pulpit for Cynthia’s memorial – the tables have been covered with bouquets of lilies, photographs of Cynthia placed carefully between them. There’s one of Cynthia as a baby, as a teenager singing in what looks like a church choir, and several of her as an adult dancing on stage.
Besides Nyara, Ife doesn’t spot anyone she recognises. She was hoping that at the very least Mark would be here so she could ask him a few more questions.
All she knows is that she has to do something. And yet now she’s here, the thought of trying to weasel information from a bunch of strangers, of people in mourning, suddenly seems ridiculous.
The man on stage takes a seat, and a younger woman who introduces herself as Cynthia’s sister takes his place. She sobs all the way through her speech and eventually breaks down completely. A different man helps her to her seat, and Ife is left with the sense that she has done the right thing coming here. Just like her, Cynthia’s friends and family want justice.
A few more people give tearful speeches, and then, to Ife’s surprise, Tayo appears on stage holding a painting of Cynthia, his hands shaking. Ife slides down in her seat hoping he doesn’t spot her as he describes how Cynthia had been like a sister to him, the person he’d looked up to most in the world, the one who’d always supported him. He doesn’t explain how he knew her, and Ife doesn’t blame him. Considering the initial commotion around Ade’s arrest, it makes sense that he doesn’t want to advertise he’s the main suspect’s brother, just like she doesn’t want to reveal she’s his wife.
Tayo finishes his speech and places the painting of Cynthia in an empty stand behind him. When he turns around, his eyes lock onto hers. Surprise, then confusion, pass over his face but just as quickly disappear as he rushes back to his seat without acknowledging her.
