Murder at Maple House

by Hugo James King

  “It was the son making it all,” I said, concluding an earlier thought. “I didn’t see any scars on Sandra’s hands.”

  Ruth nodded, making her way out of the ambulance. “I knew it, I just knew it when I saw those welts on the back of his hands. I knew that they weren’t some old odd birthmarks.”

  “And come to think of it, she was the one who jumped out and told us that,” I said. “And they actually look the same. I’m surprised I didn’t see it on the boy.”

  “They say sons looks like their fathers,” Ruth said. “But we never saw them both together, so how could we have made the connection. Neither of them were familiar to us.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Paul snapped. “If we don’t find them, this could be a huge slap in the face to my promotion.”

  I scoffed. “I mean, you did arrest the wrong man.”

  “Under confession,” he sniped. “And we’re pretty sure we can get these two. It’s pitch black, and the only way they can get anywhere is if they start shining a torch over anything. We’ll have them in a heartbeat.” His fingers clicked.

  Paul walked away, leaving us in the light from the back of the ambulance.

  I took a seat on the stoop of the back of the ambulance.

  “I best stay here for when they come to,” Ruth said, sitting beside me on the step. “Maybe they heard something one of them said. Like, maybe where they were hiding out.”

  Looking on ahead, I had a full view of the manor. All the lights were off on all the floors. It was possible they’d gone back inside, possible they were hiding out in one of the rooms until everyone had left. Maybe they knew secret doors or passages the rest of us didn’t know.

  “What are you thinking?” Ruth’s voice broke my concentration.

  “Where did they go?”

  “They could be anywhere,” her voice drifted off.

  “But they’re not,” I told her. “They’re here. And they’re going to be sneaky about it.”

  “Where do you think they’ve gone then?”

  “They’re probably still here,” I said. “They wouldn’t go far. Would you go wondering through the forest if you didn’t know the area?”

  She shook her head.

  It was the only sensible answer to it.

  “They must’ve planned this out,” I told her. “This means, they must’ve planned their getaway.”

  “I wonder how long?”

  Charlie howled up at us, turning into yaps.

  “Tired?” I asked, looking down at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll be—”

  He shot off.

  “No, no, no!”

  I kicked my shoes off and chased after him. I couldn’t run anymore, I couldn’t chase him any longer. My feet were sore. I knew I should’ve broke the shoes in at least a week before the party. That would’ve been the sensible decision.

  The car park was barely lit. Only from the dim outside porch lamps they’d hung near the walls. I caught a glimpse of the white fur as he skittered between cars with ease. I, on the other hand, had a little less success shimmying through the tighter parked cars.

  “Charlie!” I shouted, finally. “It’s dangerous.”

  Maybe he was headed to our car, wondering if I’d left treats for him inside it. I knew, I’d definitely left his leash in there. It was for the best if he was going for it. But as I chase after him, I realised I had left my purse at the step into the back of the ambulance.

  He’d stopped.

  Sniffing around the tire of a car, several cars over from where we’d parked.

  “Come on then,” I said, approaching him.

  A flash of light appeared from inside the car.

  “Charlie,” my voice softened. “Come over here. Come here.”

  The windows of the car were fogged lightly; there was no seeing inside. There was no seeing through them.

  My heart raced. “Charlie, Charlie,” I said as he scratched at the tire.

  “No,” a muffled voice shouted from inside the car.

  The backdoor popped open. A leg stepped out.

  “Come here,” a male voice spoke.

  Charlie’s head twitched, glancing at the figure I couldn’t see.

  “No!” I shouted, hauling myself forward. I pushed myself into the car door.

  An almighty screech broke and Charlie ran off.

  The front door opened.

  A woman stepped out.

  Sandra. “What have you done?” she screamed.

  I froze.

  Face-to-face with her.

  “Freeze!” a voice commanded.

  The police.

  My body shook nervously.

  “Show me your hands!” the officer said.

  I looked to see the tall officer; the one who’d been stationed in the kitchen, the one who’d been at the exit door.

  “You’re okay, Mrs Green,” he said.

  As my eyes clocked the yellow taser gun in his hands. A cold relief swept over me. I attempted to reach for my shawl, but that was gone. Somewhere between chasing after Charlie, and getting here, the fabric had left my body.

  The sobbing boy caught my attention.

  “The boy’s in the back,” I said, slow stepping away from the car.

  “I’m innocent,” Sandra pleaded. “I didn’t do anything.”

  As another two officers joined the scene, I grew comfortable enough to look at her again. She’d changed out of her clothes, instead, she wore an all-black t-shirt and jeans. And with the torch an officer directed at her body, there was no denying her involvement. A large series of welts were visible up her forearm.

  “The boy?” an officer asked me.

  “In the back,” I said. “I slammed the door on his leg.”

  Paul chuckled as he heard the comment.

  I turned to see him, shimmy between the back of a car and the bonnet of another. He carried Charlie in his arms. I smiled.

  “He doesn’t let anyone else carry him,” I said.

  Nora and Spencer followed behind Paul.

  Once Nora had caught a look at Sandra. There was no denying that they knew each other. There was no denying that they’d once had a friendship, and Nora had gotten so far as to trust Sandra with the information about Spencer.

  But even without Nora. Both the mother and son, Sandra and Daniel, had scars and welts on their bodies. The same marks and scars which matched with bad chemical burns and science conducted by amateurs.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Two Hours Later

  After the arrests were made, and Spencer was freed, the evening turned to midnight, and the clean-up crew were in the middle of the ballroom, sorting through the mess the guests had left.

  Ruth and I sat at an empty table as all the harsh bright lights shone down on us. Everyone else had either cleared out and gone home, via taxi, or went to their respective beds inside the manor.

  We had mugs of hot chocolate, and Charlie chowed on a small mound of food set out for him by the staff.

  “I bet we’d have been bored if this didn’t happen,” Ruth said, sighing into her mug as she took a drink. “Keeps us on our toes.”

  “I don’t want to talk about toes,” I said. After the running around I’d done, the soles of my feet and toes hurt. I sat with them resting on another chair. “I hope tomorrow someone can carry me.”

  “Our bodies aren’t getting any younger,” Ruth said.

  A loud clap came from the end of the hall.

  Paul, slowly clapping as he walked forward towards us.

  He was followed in by Patrick.

  “Well, you did it,” Paul said. “You managed to do what you do best.”

  “What’s that?” I laughed. “Meddle.”

  It seemed to be the word of the evening. I was the meddler, of course. I was the one who knew when something didn’t settle right, and he should’ve been thankful for it as well.

  “Great job!” Patrick said, startling Paul.

  “Thank you,” Paul replied.


  “To the women,” Patrick clarified. “They did a wonderful job tonight.”

  “Should I give you a—”

  “No, no,” Patrick said. “I’ll speak with Eve after you.”

  Paul nodded. He bit into his lip and held back a smile. “Thank you,” he said. “I told you at the beginning of the night, that I might need help. And sure, when someone gives you a confession, it’s really hard not to accept it without question.”

  “I’ll accept the thank you, would probably mean more for Charlie though,” I said. “But all of this means I do have my story. An angle nobody else has. And this time I think I broke someone’s leg.” I glanced to Patrick as he nodded back.

  Paul chuckled. “You didn’t break it,” he said. “Mostly, it was probably a sprain.”

  “I didn’t think you’d have that in you,” Ruth said. “But it’s not like you intended on it, or are we dealing with Eve the enforcer now.”

  “Oh, hush,” I pawed at her arm.

  Paul sighed, letting off the bulked stress he’d carried around as a weight on his neck. “I’m sure this is the last we’ll cross like this now,” he said. “I’ll be moving to cases on the county scale.”

  “I’m going to the nursing home to visit your mother on Monday evening, if you and Penny would like to come with me.”

  Our relationship to this point had been fairly strained. We’d alternate when we visited, that way we’d never clash. I felt we were ready to be civilised in a personal respect.

  “I’m sure Penny would like that,” he said. “But, I should be going now. I have a huge report to write, and an explanation as to why it took as long as it did.”

  As Paul left, I sunk into my shoulders, drinking up the sweet sugary hot chocolate. Next up, was Patrick, and I knew just what he was going to say.

  “Diane is sleeping upstairs,” Patrick said.

  Although I didn’t think it was going to be that.

  “I told her what happened, although I doubt she’ll remember,” he continued. “I think everything that happened sent her a little—you know, spiralled.”

  Ruth chuckled. “If it happened at my party, I’d be the same.”

  As would I.

  “But, you’re right, you have a story nobody else has,” he said. “And I halted publication of anything naming Spencer as the murderer. I don’t want to be sued.”

  I smiled. “Sounds wise.”

  “Which is why, your piece, the first piece for the newspaper will be about this tonight,” he said. “I know it just happened, but if you could get anything down to go out for Monday, you’ll be making a great impression.”

  That was one way to sell me on it.

  “For Monday,” I said.

  He looked to his watch. “That means you’ll have to get something done tomorrow,” he said.

  “Easy!” Ruth said. “We took notes. Didn’t we?”

  We had. They were in my purse.

  Looking to it on the table. I knew what was written on those notes, and on them, I’d written both Patrick and Diane’s names. “They’ll be useful to pin together what happened, and what was going through our minds.” I hoped he didn’t want to see them.

  He clapped his hands before rubbing them. “Well, I can’t wait to see what you write.”

  This was the third time I was being forced to go back and replay events.

  A third time my skull felt like a walnut being cracked into.

  “For Monday,” I repeated.

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for reading the third instalment of the Silver Lake series. It’s a fictional village close to my heart, and while we end the third book with Eve’s big promotion, we’ll still be in Silver Lake and Briarbury.

  Eve’s new promotion brings Suzanne along with her, not what she’d have asked for, but after leaving the cushioned job at the travel magazine, Eve is about to jump feet first into the investigative journalism pool.

  If you’ve enjoyed the series this far, please leave a review.

  Best wishes,

  About the Authors

  HUGO JAMES KING

  Always a storyteller.

  Always a curious mind.

  He grew up surrounded by farms and rolling hills.

  He now lives in the North West of England.

  Dependant of two: a white Japanese Akita and a ginger Bengal cat.

  A consumer of supermarket-brand coffee and a creator of large-dish lasagnes.

  JESSICA LANCASTER

  Jessica Lancaster grew up in England with a love for reading whodunnit murder mysteries.

  She’s loves nothing more than a good cup of tea with some chocolate biscuits.

  Named after Angela Lansbury in “Murder, She Wrote”, Jessica Fletcher; she dreamed of a day to be her own sleuth in a series. This sparked Gwen in the Cowan Bay Witches Cozy Mystery series and Evanora in the Witchwood Cozy Mystery series.

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