The Note (Unsolved Mysteries Book 1) by Kim Knight (books to read romance txt) 📕

her mortgage free but with no source of income coming in since all the restaurant’s profits, his bank accounts, and the properties he had owned were now tied up in Chelsea’s name. Her thoughts caused her to smile this time, rather than frown.

If this all goes well, it will all be mine and the kids.

She turned, unzipped her dress, stepped out of it, placed it on the bed, then reached for her casual pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Quickly, she dressed, then headed to the kitchen.

The casserole dish sat on the kitchen counter smouldering. The grey smoke wafted up to the ceiling from the burnt ashes of the pictures.

Casually, she picked the whole thing up, checked to make sure the flames were out, pressed her foot on the pedal of the dustbin, and tossed the damn thing in without a care in the world.

The phone rang, so she picked up the cordless and looked at the caller display. It was Susan, her best friend.

“Hello, Sue,” Manisha said solemnly into the phone.

“Hi, how are you, Manisha?”

“I’m okay, I guess. Just about to take a bath and try to relax,” she lied.

“Oh, you poor thing. It will take time. Tony’s not with you anymore, and I know you miss him, but what is it they say? They are always there in spirit, looking out for us.”

Manisha cringed at Susan’s upbeat, sickly voice.

“Yeah, I guess so. It will get easier,” she said, then rolled her eyes.

“So, what have you been up to today?”

“Not much. I went to the cemetery and got soaked in the rain, then came back home.” Manisha was careful how much she told Susan. She decided to keep the news about Chelsea to herself, well, for now.

“That’s nice. I’m sure Tony was grateful for the visit.”

Manisha almost gaged at the thought, then she recalled hacking up a mouth full of phlegm and spitting it on Tony’s headstone. She stifled the laughter trying to escape.

“You still there?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, never mind me. I was just—”

“Thinking of Tony, I know,” Susan said.

Manisha rolled her eyes once more, desperate to get off the phone. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then leaned on the counter. “What are you up to tomorrow, Sue? Why don’t we meet for lunch?”

“Aww, that be lovely, okay. What time?”

“Let me give you a call in the morning, I’ve got a few things to take care of then, we can meet up. Maybe even go over to one of Tony’s restaurants,” Manisha said, then smiled at the thought of reclaiming the family businesses.

“Are you sure? Of all places, there?”

“Yeah, why not. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Manisha paused a moment. “I’m just getting into the bath,” she said lying again.

“Okay, no worries. Look forward to it, enjoy your evening.”

“You too.” Manisha hung up to phone with a satisfied smile.

18

How Did You Get Here?

Chelsea

Later that evening, across London, Chelsea parked her car. She stood at the curb, looking up at her window from outside her block of flats.

A few of her neighbour’s lights were on.

Casting her gaze around the deserted parking lot, she took in the darkness.

She had finally returned from shopping for art supplies and inspecting what Manisha had taken from the empty property. Satisfaction filled her thoughts. Manisha had done a good job organising the house, but it pissed Chelsea off that she hadn’t managed to get hold of Lance all day.

His phone was still switched off, and her calls went straight to voice mail.

She bit on her lip, pulled out her phone, then pressed redial.

“This is Lance, ya know what to do.” The recording of his voice boomed in her ear.

She cut the call and dropped the phone in her oversized Gucci bag. Reaching over the back seat, she grabbed a couple of shopping bags filled with her paints and canvas paper.

Now that it was dark, the view from her window would be fantastic. She could paint London’s skyline and relax.

“Chill out. Don’t worry,” she whispered, reassuring herself.

She then locked the car and made her way to the building, balancing her shopping bags. At the door, Chelsea fished out her card and swiped her entry pass with a heavy heart. The doors creaked open and she entered.

At the lift, as she waited for it to arrive, she resumed the nervous habit of biting the skin around the edges of her nails.

Something’s not right, she pondered the situation. Lance is missing.

The detectives’ sudden new interest in the case set her on edge. From the evidence of the video she had seen, they had a good reason. No one was meant to find out about Lance and the affair. It made her uncomfortable, vulnerable even.

Now, her ‘little miss innocent, I just wanted to care for him, and we fell in love’ act, seemed less plausible.

Gotta find out where they’re getting their information from? She straightened her back.

The lift arrived with a ding. Once the doors opened, she stepped inside.

Snap out of it, Chelsea, she scolded herself.

She gazed at her reflection, which shined with immaculate perfection in the metal doors.

I’m innocent, she told herself, yeah, I am. I may have wanted him to go and leave me the money, but I didn’t do anything.

Once upstairs, she let herself into her flat, closed the door behind her, and kicked off her Louboutin heels. She made her way into the kitchen with her bags, passed through into the living room, then set them down on the sofa.

This isn’t good. Something’s up. She opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of white wine, then slammed the door shut.

A large mass moved out from the shadows.

“Arrrgh,” Chelsea screamed. “What are you doing here? How the hell did you get in?”

As a strong pair of hands wrapped around her neck and squeezed.

Panic set in. She kicked her feet and screamed once more. The rush of blood pumping through her body thumped in her ears.

The intruder applied more pressure to her neck, strangling her cries for help. Windpipe crushed, she