Murder at Maple House

by Hugo James King

  “Get down,” Patrick continued.

  “I need to—to say—” the microphone dropped, slipped from his hand.

  Thud.

  His body followed the microphone to the floor of the stage.

  Had it really happened? My eyes widened to question it.

  Was his fate met the same way Finley’s had been?

  The members of the jazz band were first to him as they sat by their unused instruments.

  “He’s still breathing!” a voice called out from a member of the band, he knelt by Spencer with a finger on the neck.

  Turning my head, I noticed the curiosity drive from the back of the room all the way to the front. All the way in Diane’s direction.

  She stood and smiled, as if they were coming for her. Reaching onto the stage, she grabbed the microphone Spencer had been using only moments ago.

  “Please, everyone, don’t run.”

  A paramedic raced through everyone to the stage, followed by a police officer as their escort.

  Spencer wasn’t dead, but had someone tried to kill him?

  Ruth tapped my hand. “You look worried,” she said. “I don’t think he was poisoned as well.” She huffed out her cheeks and rolled her tongue out of her mouth. “Looks like he fainted, probably too much to drink.”

  “You’re right,” I mumbled back, pulling my chair to take a seat.

  “Speaking of,” she continued. “Drink some water. You’re looking a little dazed.”

  “I barely remember Spencer or Finley, but both of them seemed to have had a connection to Harry. And now, I’m just—I’m just thinking.”

  “We’ve already been through this,” she said. “And we’re not going down Harry’s rabbit hole again.” She snapped her fingers. “Doubt there’s any small business around here who hasn’t had a little help from Harry or any of the businesses he had business with.”

  She was right, and if I was going to obsess over one business decision, there’d be no end to it. No end to the number of people I’d have to know about; new faces, new names. It would only end in the realisation we were both too busy to have children, him with his many projects, and me, chasing my dreams of pursuing a career in journalism.

  NINE

  A tap to my shoulder pulled me from the thought of the relationship Harry and I had. It wasn’t perfect, but in my mind, and in my thoughts, there were perfections to it, even if to many people we didn’t have all the different aspects of what made their marriages perfect.

  It was Paul, the brother of the man I’d married.

  “Paul,” I said, smiling to myself, although unsure if he would’ve thought the smile was for him. It wasn’t, but I was living in my memories for a small moment while the commotion around whisked me off.

  “Paul,” Ruth then added, her straight lips and equally strained stare on him were warranted; we didn’t need him to come and talk to us, we didn’t need him to come and interrogate once again.

  He looked around to see all the people gawking at Spencer on the stage. “What did you see?” he asked.

  “Spencer,” we both replied.

  “Was he acting strange at all?”

  “Drunk?” I suggested. “He wobbled up on the stage, and then started to speak.”

  “Before, passing out.”

  Paul nodded. “Anything else you know?”

  Ruth rolled her eyes. “What’s gotten you asking for help?”

  I’d forgotten, Ruth hadn’t been part of the conversation where Paul hadn’t deterred me from doing my own sleuthing. “Paul told me I could meddle,” I offered her with a chuckle.

  “Not in those words,” he said back. “But, between us—” his lips parted into a larger smile. “I’m getting a promotion, and I think this will be my last case. I hope, and the sooner it’s done, the faster I can move onto the county constabulary.”

  “The county?” Ruth’s eyes widened.

  Well, a series of murder cases later, and he’s suddenly hailed an expert. “Seems everyone is getting new jobs lately.” I looked from him to Ruth.

  “Not me,” she chuckled back.

  “So, do you know anything?” he asked. “I know you’ve been speaking with people.”

  That much was true. “Everyone thinks it was poison.”

  Ruth raised a hand. “Which the paramedics could tell you, but safer to run tests before actually putting it your notes,” she said. “Unless.”

  “Unless what?” he asked.

  “Well, unless you find the poison which killed him,” she replied. “So best bet would be to find someone with any background or history in medicine or you know, like that.” She sucked back air through her teeth and planted a hand on her chest. “Now I sound like a suspect.”

  Paul offered a half-hearted smile. “Well, did you do it?”

  “I’d never met the man before tonight,” Ruth said. “But perhaps there’s someone else among us with a varied history.”

  “That would take all evening to find out,” he said.

  “Then get started,” I replied with a grin, feeling out of place with all the talk. I wasn’t an expert in poison or medicine, or an expert in anything, just a woman with a varied history who enjoyed solving weekend puzzles and newspaper word teasers.

  “I’ve spoken with Diane and Patrick,” he said. “They’re getting me their seating plan so I can reference it against anyone who isn’t here.”

  I nodded. “On that note,” I said. “Have you seen Charlie? He ran off when everyone started running towards the back of the ballroom. I’m not too worried, the place is on lockdown, but I don’t want him getting too far.”

  He shook his head. “No, but you should probably find him,” he said. “He usually finds trouble, wherever he is.”

  “He’s a dog,” I said, but I knew there was truth to it.

  He chuckled. “Right.” Before walking away.

  “We should go find him,” I said to Ruth.

  She nodded.

  From my purse, I pulled a small plastic wrapped bag of dog treats.

  And off on the hunt for Charlie we went.

  Calling out his name and shaking the dog treat in hand. I made my way through to the back of the hall. Ruth stood a couple paces behind me, checking beneath the tables and chairs to make sure he wasn’t hiding or eating anything someone had dropped on the ground.

  Everyone was still concerned with Spencer, it was an extra clause or paragraph they could use to add in their stories about the death of Finley, or depending upon what was discovered this evening, the murder.

  After thirty minutes of trying to find him, it was obvious he wasn’t inside the ballroom anymore. Police officers stood at all the entrances and exits to all the rooms, there were more people here than I’d ever seen inside Silver Lake or Briarbury before.

  “Have you seen a dog?” I asked an officer, standing at the door separating the ballroom from the hallway out into the reception area.

  The man shook his head. “Not this way.”

  “Eve!” Ruth called.

  From the opposite of the same side of the hall, Ruth stood, waving me over.

  I hurried to her, tssking in the pain at the back of my feet from moving too quick in the heels I’d put back on my feet. “Ruth, did you—”

  “Found him,” she said.

  Standing in the doorway, looking through the circular window porthole. Ruth nodded through for me to look.

  And there he was, seeking all the attention for the cooks inside the large kitchen.

  I noticed, four cooks, all women, with a single man, his hat much bigger, perhaps the head chef. They circled the dog, and beside them, were a few straggling wait staff, all boys.

  I had wondered where they’d gone, and assumed they’d been sequestered away. It was true.

  Thud.

  My attempt to open the door was met with a bump.

  A dark face filled the window; a police officer.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, slipping the door ajar with his
foot.

  “That’s my dog,” I said. “Can I—”

  He pushed the door open and welcomed Ruth and me inside. “Sorry,” he grumbled. “I’ve got to keep them all together for questioning.”

  Ruth snickered. “I know you, you’re Elaine’s son,” she said. “I’ve been giving you your vaccines since you were little.”

  He snickered. “Didn’t recognise you.”

  “They’ve not been questioned?” I asked.

  “Too many of them.” He shrugged. “I’ve been told to keep them all in here, nobody is getting anything else to drink, and hopefully it’ll sober everyone else up.” He smiled again, breaking up the brutish square jaw and face shape.

  Charlie yapped in my direction before zooming at my legs, launching into my ankles.

  Everyone looked in my direction. Of course, Charlie was going to come to me, I had a treat in my hands, and he was my dog; he knew my scent, and he was excited to smell me come in.

  As I bent to pick Charlie up, my mind recoiled back. Everyone in here hadn’t been questioned yet. And from what I could see, there were many people waiting around. Everyone had finished or been told to quit what they were doing as they stood idle, waiting for something.

  If it had been me, I would have been the first to question the people who had been walking around the entire place all evening, they had the best vantage point, they knew who argued, or who was drunk. These people were the central nervous system of the investigation, and they weren’t even being used.

  TEN

  A woman in chef’s whites and her hair bundled back into a net approached us by the door. She cooed at Charlie in my arms. “Your dog?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “He’s a little terror sometimes, always getting out of sight.”

  “Bless him,” she tutted, waggling a gloved hand against his snout. The embroidered tag on her chest lapel read, Sandra.

  “Are there leftovers in here?” Ruth asked, smacking her lips together.

  Sandra pointed to the side. “Not been allowed to take those out, just yet,” she said, a large smile bulging at her cheeks and eyes.

  Ruth pulled her shoulders back and headed straight for the small metal counter filled with trays.

  “How long have you been in here?” I asked.

  She puffed her cheeks and sighed. “At least forty minutes,” she said. “They called us all in, none of us are allowed to leave until someone has been to quiz us about that man’s death.”

  “A tragedy, isn’t it,” another woman said in her approach, a much older woman, at least my mother’s age. Her chest lapel read, Lorraine. “Was he a local boy?”

  I shook my head. “Not that I can remember,” I said.

  Sandra and Lorraine sighed as they glanced at each other.

  “Are you local?” I hadn’t seen either of them around in the local areas before, and I was somewhat a people watcher whenever I sat inside Briar’s café.

  “They have two in-house chefs,” Lorraine said, “but the rest of us were hired in by a catering company.”

  “First time we’ve worked together, actually,” Sandra said, nodding to Lorraine. “Four of us in total, the other two girls are about my son’s age. Twenty-ish.”

  “And the waiters?” I asked. I was aware of Diane’s demands, but where she placed them, I wasn’t sure.

  “Same company,” Sandra said. “Well, I think some of them are anyway.”

  I handed Charlie the treat after he sniffed at my fingers, making me grow conscious to the fact I’d yet to give him it. “Must be horrible, to get hired, and then have to deal with all this.”

  Lorraine’s shoulders shuddered. “This isn’t the worst,” she said. “We get to apply to different jobs the company are recruiting for, and once I was covering an event at one of those homes for the elderly.” She popped her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “First five minutes, right into the pudding.”

  “Someone died?” I asked.

  She nodded back with raised eyebrows.

  “Never seen a dead body,” Sandra added, performing a cross gesture over her body with her hands. “Don’t want to either. Did you know him at all?”

  I didn’t, even if he knew me.

  Splash.

  Crash.

  A scream of pain.

  In the corner of the room, a young boy, one of the waiters, he’d spilt a cup of hot liquid on himself.

  We all hurried to him.

  Ruth, in nurse mode, removed the glove.

  It was red, almost raw, with welts forming on the back of his hand.

  “We need to get you up to the sink,” she said, pulling a hand under his shoulder to try and raise him.

  One of the male chefs was at the other side, a scowl etched on his face, as if angered by the ordeal. It would’ve meant an accident form needed to be filled in, I suppose.

  “Run it under the cold,” Ruth said as her voice was quelled by the gushing water. “Then we can sort the burn out.”

  “It’s a scar,” Sandra said.

  It was red, and where red skin was concerned, I figured it meant I was fresh.

  As the boy continued to hold his hand under the cold water, someone cleared away the mess on the floor. Ruth approached me.

  “Think the cup was too hot,” she said, “he dropped it, well—not before spilling it over his hand.”

  “Poor boy,” Sandra sighed. “He said something earlier when we were digging in the glove box about being self-conscious of his birthmark.”

  Ruth pressed a hand on her chest. “Good job,” she said. “I know how those types of gloves can only add further injury. The plastics ones get tight on the skin, and the cloth ones soak up all the heat. Can’t win with them really.”

  The waiter turned to look at Ruth.

  “Ten minutes, at least,” she said back to him. “I’m a nurse.”

  “The last thing the paramedics needed was another injury on their list to the night,” I mumbled.

  “What else happened?” Lorraine asked, joining at my side.

  “Someone fainted on stage,” I said, shaking my head. “Surprised you didn’t hear the microphone.”

  Sandra chuckled. “Pretty soundproofed,” she said. “I think it’s so the chefs can bark orders out without having the guests listen in.”

  “Or the microwave.” Lorraine snickered. “Oh, I shouldn’t say that, they don’t use microwaves to cook your food here, it might give them a bad reputation if that kind of rumour starts.”

  And they definitely wouldn’t want that.

  To stay at Maple House was expensive, and equally costly to eat, and throw in a couple packages at their in-house and in-room spa and massage service, and you were looking to have a very expensive stay.

  Ruth turned to me. “So, why didn’t Diane want their staff in?”

  “We’re cheaper,” Lorraine said, raising her brows. “This type of job is the more popular, we come into big, fancy manor houses and replace their staff, sometimes for the weekend if it’s one of those away team builders,” she chuckled. “Those are my favourites.”

  The chef who’d helped Ruth pick the boy up approached, the other two women left.

  “You two probably aren’t supposed to be in here,” he said, his brows knitting together as his eyeballs flickered in his sockets, glancing us over. “Not only because you’re not dressed for the occasion, but because that detective was in here accusing us of all sorts.”

  “Paul,” I grumbled. “I thought they hadn’t been.”

  “To question us, no,” he said. “But to go so far as to accuse us of poisoning the poor sod out there, it’s a bit far.”

  “That’s her brother-in-law,” Ruth chuckled, throwing me under the bus like I was attached to him.

  “Listen,” the chef said. “We’re not looking for someone to come in and try sue is for poor hygiene.”

  “They can’t,” I said. “Nobody else has gotten sick. But if they had, then they’d have a case.”

  “No,
” he said plainly. “I’m talking about the two of you. You shouldn’t be in here.”

  I scoffed. “Well, we’re here with the investigation.” I nodded to Ruth. “Just because we’re dressed in attendance, it doesn’t mean we’re just people passing by.”

  “And the dog?”

  “He’s found more dead bodies than—” I paused, probably wasn’t the best thing to lead with. “My dog has a keen sense of smell, the fact he came in here should be an indicator. Are you hiding any bodies?”

  Ruth cooed, as if what I’d said really caught the chef. “I watched a documentary once about long-term freezer storage, the big ones, keeping bodies in them as if they were trying to preserve the life.”

  The chef laughed. “All the food is done anyway,” he said. “You’re just getting in the way of the rundown clean now.”

  “We’ve been asked to stay in here,” I said. “In case anyone does anything suspicious.”

  The chef nodded to the police officer at the door. “Then why is he here?”

  “Why do you think he let us in?” Ruth quipped back. “He’s quite the burly man, if we weren’t supposed to come in, you’d think he’d have stopped us, wouldn’t you.”

  He nodded again. “Well, don’t get in the way.”

  “We won’t.”

  He walked off to join the other chef leaning against the counter. He’d been watching us this entire time.

  “I wonder if he’s doing okay?” Ruth spoke.

  I grumbled, looking back to her.

  She was referring to the boy.

  At the sink, he stood pressing at the soft tissue on the back of his hand, flinching away after every other moment.

  “Sore?” Ruth asked in our approach.

  Sandra appeared before us, waving a glove in front of his face. “Got you a new one.”

  “Think he should let it breathe,” Ruth said.

  Sandra gasped and thumped her palm against her forehead. “Oh, of course. Health and safety 101.”

  Another boy approached. “Ouch,” he mumbled, baring his teeth slightly. “Hope they don’t dock your pay for the cup.”

  I recognised the boy. He’d dropped a champagne bottle earlier, caused a little stir when it happened, right in front of Finley.