by Blythe Baker
A chill ran down my spine, as I tried not to imagine someone being brutally attacked like that.
“That’s…not all of it, though,” Sam said.
When I looked at him, I realized there were spots of color in his cheeks, and he was having a difficult time meeting my eye.
“What do you mean?” I asked, goose pimples appearing on my arms.
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “This was something I wish I could keep from you, but I’m afraid you’ll hear about it one way or another, and it might be better coming from a friend instead of a stranger.”
My heart began to beat faster, and fear twisted my stomach into knots. “I don’t like the look in your eyes,” I said.
Sam pursed his lips. “Well…according to the same witnesses who told us that the victim had been at the pub that night…and there were half a dozen, at least…the victim got into a heated quarrel with another one of the patrons that evening. And that person was Sidney Mason.”
His words struck me as if they were a physical blow. I stared at him, but it was as if I couldn’t comprehend the words he was speaking.
Sidney? There was no way.
“Sidney isn’t a quarrelling sort of man…” I said.
“I know, it surprised me too,” he said. “I even went so far as to see if there was possibly another Sidney in the village that they could have been mistaking him for. Apparently not.”
“What did he and the victim fight about?” I asked, both afraid and curious about what the answer could possibly be.
Sam shrugged. “That’s the interesting part, I suppose. No one knows how the fight started in the first place. It seems they were playing cards with some other gentlemen, and their conversation began to turn sour. Soon, they were yelling at one another, making blatant threats.”
“May I ask who the victim was?” I asked, hoping to keep some sort of unbroken image of Sidney in my mind. “Or is that classified?”
“It’s been in the papers,” said Sam. “His name was Wilson Baxter. Worked at the lumber mill outside of the village. A good man, when he kept his temper in check. His family’s been living here in Brookminster since it was founded.”
“I see…” I said. “I don’t think I knew him.”
“You may have seen his wife come into your shop,” Sam said. “Though they were never ones to have a great deal of wealth.”
He dipped his head, bringing his likely now cold tea to his lips as Mrs. Diggory returned with her hands laden with plates of steaming food.
“Here we are,” she said, setting a plate down in front of me, and then the other before Sam. “I’ll be back in just a moment with the gravy.”
The meat was sliced expertly, and drizzled with a wonderful herb gravy. It looked so moist and tender. The potatoes were steaming, the skin wrinkled, the white flesh beneath soft and buttery.
Despite it smelling delicious, I had very little appetite after the news that Sam had told me.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Really. I should have waited until after we’d eaten.”
“No,” I said, picking up my fork and smiling. “It’s all right. I’m glad you told me.”
We ate for some time in silence. The food really was good, as was the gravy that Mrs. Diggory brought out to us.
Then the question that was burning its way through my stomach could be suppressed no longer. “I take it that Sidney is now considered a suspect in Wilson Baxter’s murder?”
Sam clenched his jaw, his eyes glued to the table. “Yes, I’m afraid he is.”
That was a blow. “It’s just…so hard to believe,” I said.
Sam nodded. “I know. He certainly doesn’t strike me as the sort. And the thing is, just because he was involved with the victim the night of his death, it doesn’t mean that he was the one to kill him.”
“Have you had him in for questioning yet?” I asked.
Sam nodded. “Yes, two days ago, in fact. We called him in as soon as we had questioned the other witnesses. His story certainly seemed to check out, but all of our suspects remain just that until the killer is found.”
“And you have no idea who it might have been?” I asked. “No better leads?”
“As of this moment, no,” Sam said. “We are waiting for the autopsy report from the coroner, hoping it might reveal some more clues.”
It was hard to believe Sidney could have gotten himself caught up in all this. The knots in my chest tightened as I thought back to our conversations yesterday. He had seemed so calm. How could he be, if he was a suspect in a murder investigation?
It just felt…wrong.
I sat back in my seat, chewing the inside of my lip. “It’s strange, is all…” I said. “I saw him last night and he didn’t say anything about another death in the village.”
“You saw him last night?” Sam asked. “When?”
“Oh, just before six, I think,” I said, realizing what I said could very well be used in the investigation now. “It was shortly after I’d gotten home from the train station. He came by to drop something off, and – ”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What was he dropping off?”
“Only some bread he’d baked,” I said. “And we spent quite a while talking. He wanted to know how my trip went.” I shook my head. “It doesn’t feel right. Sidney is always very open about the things happening in the village. He and Irene always seem to know what’s going on with everyone else. With every other death, we have talked about it. He was even the one who came to me to tell me about Mrs. Lowell’s death back in July.”
Sam rubbed his cheek. “It’s hard to believe it’s been almost a month since that happened,” he said. “And yet, a month between deaths like this is far too soon, if you ask me. Every time we solve a case, I keep hoping this is the last time. I’m not sure about you, but I could certainly do without these sorts of investigations. I think I’ve seen enough death to last me the rest of my life, and then some.”
“I do understand,” I said.
“I think it will be best if we simply try to put this all behind us,” Sam said. “Regarding Sidney, that is. As of right now, his alibi is sound, so we are investigating alternative routes. And believe me, it would pain me to have to interrogate a friend of yours again like that.”
We finished our meal, and I spent most of the time lost in thought. Sam attempted some polite conversation after that, but it was almost impossible, given the gravity of what he’d said earlier.
“Thank you for lunch,” I said as we walked back outside onto the street together.
“You’re quite welcome,” he said. “I wish it could have been for better reasons, but I wanted you to know what had been happening. There was no sense in your being unprepared.”
“I appreciate it,” I said.
Sam hesitated, opening his mouth to speak, but then snapping it shut once again. “But if I were you, I would not get involved in this case, purely because of your association with one of the suspects. I can understand perfectly why you might want to…but you shouldn’t.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” I said. “To be honest, I have very little patience left for these sorts of matters. I think…I think it would be best if I left this to you.”
Sam exhaled sharply, relieved. “Good.” He glanced down at his watch, and then gave me a rough smile. “All right, Mrs. Lightholder. I must be off. You take care, and have a pleasant rest of your day.”
“Thank you, Inspector,” I said.
“And Helen?” he said, partially turned away from me.
“Yes?”
“It’s good to have you back in town,” he said.
I smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Yes…it is good to be back.”
“I wish I’d had better news for you,” he said.
“As do I,” I said. “As do I.”
7
The more I thought about it, the harder time I had with it.
Sidney Mason…was a suspect in a murder.
So much for my relaxin
g first afternoon home from London. I’d come back from visiting the Gordons, with an already wounded heart. Having learned everything I had about Roger, I knew that I needed some time to rest when I returned. I wanted time to process.
Now, though…I had this new information to worry about.
What surprised me more than anything was Sidney’s blatant omission of Wilson Baxter’s death. I was tempted to write it off as having simply not crossed his mind when we were speaking, and assume that he wasn’t worried about being a suspect.
I wanted to believe that even more when I realized Irene had also not contacted me to let me know about the death. She, like Sidney, would have certainly wanted me to find out about what was happening in the village. She was the one who always knew what was going on.
I sunk down into the bathtub, blowing bubbles with my lips, my face flushed with heat, steam rising from the water.
This was all too confusing…but what troubled me the most was that I couldn’t shake the feeling that Sidney could be a suspect.
If I trusted him like I thought I did, shouldn’t I have fought Sam tooth and nail, denying Sidney’s involvement, insisting that there was no way he could have ever done something so horrific?
So why was my stomach so knotted? Why was I so frightened of that being the truth, instead of believing it was impossible?
Anything is possible, really…a voice far in the back of my mind was saying. Just look at Roger, for instance. You were so certain that you knew him, and then you find out that he was actually a spy.
I didn’t like that similarity.
But a spy is very different from a murderer…I said in response to that voice. Roger was noble, heroic. He died protecting his country. If Sidney ended up being a murderer, what is honorable about that?
Nothing, that small voice replied. Nothing at all. And that’s why you can’t come to terms with it.
Annoyed, I yanked the plug at the bottom of the tub, and the water began surging down the pipes.
I knew that was exactly why I was upset. No matter how much I tried to tell myself that he was not a murderer, that he couldn’t possibly be, I couldn’t convince myself.
Uncertainty made my skin crawl as I dressed for bed, wrapping myself up in my silk robe. When I climbed into bed, I pulled the blankets up over myself, settled into my pillows, and stared at the far wall.
Sidney couldn’t possibly be…I thought.
…But what if he is? That small voice asked in return.
There was one aspect of him that I simply could not shake. It was something that had stuck with me ever since I’d met Sidney. There was so much that I didn’t know about him. I didn’t understand who he was, not fully. I may have known some of his likes and dislikes, as well as knowing his interests. But he never spoke of his childhood, or his family, or what he did before he moved to Brookminster. He had never fully explained why he’d come to this little village, either.
In many ways, Sidney was still a stranger to me. A very handsome, charming stranger that happened to move in next door.
I slept terribly that night. My dreams were plagued with deformed, bloody bodies, hidden just behind doorways, or bathed in the shadowed alleyways of London streets. Laughter followed after me, but I never saw the killer’s face.
When I woke, it was still dark. I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to sleep, so I rose early, and busied myself with tidying the shop downstairs, hours before I opened it back up for the first time in a week.
I ate breakfast, though found myself avoiding the bread that Sidney had brought for me. I made a large pot of tea, and carried it downstairs with me, pouring the hot water into a carafe to keep it warm. I knew I’d need it to keep me awake throughout the day.
I was grateful for the daylight, and for the chance to open my shop. I soon forgot all of the terrible images from my dreams as I helped ladies look for new pins for their dresses, or ribbon for their hats. It felt good to be back at it, to be helpful, to keep my mind focused on other things.
It was ten minutes to three when I heard a knock on my back door, and my heart leapt into my throat.
“Is everything all right, dear?” Mrs. Georgianna asked as I packaged up her new hat that I’d fixed for her, adorning it with some opals that she’d brought to me that had once belonged to her mother. “You look rather pale all of a sudden.”
“Oh, it’s quite all right,” I said. “I just heard a knock at my back door.”
As soon as the words left me, there was a second series of knocks.
“Perhaps you should go answer that?” Mrs. Georgianna asked.
I glanced over my shoulder, and it was as if I’d been plunged into an icy river.
Sidney was there at the window, waving at me, smiling.
I waved, smiling as wide as I could, and then pointed at the box, hoping he would understand that I was busy and couldn’t come to answer immediately.
He nodded, and to my dismay, leaned against the window, showing that he was happy enough to wait.
My heart was beating against my ribs as I turned back to Mrs. Georgianna.
“Are you sure you’re all right, dear?” Mrs. Georgianna asked.
“Oh, yes,” I said, tying the ribbon shut on her box. “Just a little lightheaded. It might be the heat.”
“Oh, perhaps you are coming down with something,” she said, frowning at me. “Because I thought it was pleasant outside today.”
I managed to hurry her out of the store, assuring her over and over that yes, I was fine, and of course I would take care of myself.
“You very well could have gotten sick on your trip away,” she said as I stood with her at the door. “London is a filthy place.”
“I agree,” I said. “Perhaps I did. I shall go right up and tuck myself into bed.”
“Very good,” Mrs. Georgianna said. “You do just that.”
As soon as I closed the door, I made my way back toward Sidney, my head pounding.
I had never been nervous to see him, and I knew that I was being unreasonable by assuming that he was anything but himself.
I took a deep, steadying breath as I gripped the door handle.
Maybe he will say something today, I thought. I’ll wait and see if he brings any of it up.
I pulled the door open, smiling. “Hello there, Sidney.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Lightholder,” he said, tipping his hat to me. “How are you doing today?”
“Oh, just fine,” I said, leaning against the doorway. “Just finished up for the day.”
“I thought so,” he said. “I just finished up my jobs myself. I thought I’d come over and see how everything was in your world.”
He smiled at me, the same warm smile that he always used whenever we spoke.
“What sort of jobs have you been working on this week?” I asked. “Anything exciting?”
“Well, let’s see now…” he said, resting his hand on the toolbelt that was buckled around his waist, just like it always was. “I repaired a window for Mr. Trent on Tuesday last, and helped to patch a hole in Mr. Diggory’s car engine, something he’s been trying to do for months now, and I finally had a chance to do it. Aside from that…” he said, scratching his scruffy chin. “I cannot think of anything else important that I’ve done, no.”
I smiled as innocently as I could. That certainly would have been a perfect opportunity to tell me about the death, even if he didn’t tell me about his possible involvement.
I was starting to believe that he was avoiding it on purpose.
“So what about the week I was away?” I asked. “We talked about me a lot last night. What about you? What sort of mischief did you get up to?”
This was the last chance. If he had any sense, he would know what I was alluding to.
There was a flash of something in his gaze, but his charming smile grew across his face, his freckles stretching. “Well, to be honest, it was quite lonely here without you…”
He took a step toward me, so
close that I could smell the sweat on him, as well as whatever soap he used. Something like mint.
I backed up against the doorway, and realized he’d very nearly pinned me there.
He laid his hand on the doorway above my head, and leaned in close to me. I could feel his breath on my face.
“I must admit, I am quite fond of your company, Mrs. Lightholder.”
My heart started hammering inside my chest, and I was certain he’d be able to hear it. Before today, I knew that this closeness would have confused me. Would I have liked his flirtations? Or would it have frightened me, like it did now?
My fear is rooted in something far different from insecurity, I thought.
I ducked out from underneath his arm, moving back inside the shop. “I’m happy we are friends as well, Sidney,” I said, pretending to busy myself with tidying up some receipts, even though they were already in an order I liked. “And I know I could never pay you back for all the help that you’ve given me around my home.”
He slowly leaned against the doorframe, sliding his hands into his pockets. I felt his gaze piercing the side of my face as I avoided his gaze. “Is everything all right?” he asked. “You seem a bit distant all of a sudden.”
“Oh, everything’s fine,” I said, laughing. The sound was even unnatural to my own ears. “Just fine. I simply remembered that I had some things I needed to put away before tomorrow. Orders, you know. Mrs. Orielle is insistent that I get these clasps polished and repaired for her by tomorrow, so I needed to make sure they were out in the open so I didn’t forget.”
“Of course,” Sidney said.
I swallowed nervously, my hands shaking as I moved boxes around mindlessly, trying desperately to make it look as if I was doing it all with a purpose.
“You know…” he said. “I was out fixing Mr. Diggory’s car…yesterday, in fact.”
My stomach plummeted, and I had to grip the shelf I knelt in front of in order to steady myself. “Oh?” I asked, laughing again. “I was near there yesterday, myself.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, a slight edge to his words. “I saw you having lunch with Inspector Graves.”
I froze. It was as if all the wind had been kicked out of me.
