A Dash Of Pepper

by Sam Short

  There had been footsteps. Footsteps approaching the shed. Footsteps made by a large foot. Or was it a man’s foot? A foot wearing boots meant for gardening, maybe? Uncertain of precisely what the vibes were telling her, an image popped into the forefront of her mind as the plant spoke to her. An image of Stan placing his newspaper on the table and standing up as the footsteps approached.

  Then the image darkened, but Pepper was as certain as she’d been when she’d thought she’d heard one of the deer eating an acorn when she’d listened to the oak tree, that she’d heard Stan speaking in a raised voice as if he were arguing.

  Then the two sets of footsteps both approached the shed, and then there was a noise. Pepper squeezed the stem of the grapevine harder in her hand. She concentrated, willing her magic to decipher the energy the plant was offering her.

  She listened to the noise again. She nodded. Yes, it was a thud. The noise had been a thud, but not the noise of Stan tripping on his shoelace and falling to his death on the floor of his shed, the sound was more like human hands slamming into another human.

  Then Pepper had it — she recognised the sound. It was the sound of one person pushing another person — as if two hands had slammed into a human back.

  And then Pepper heard another sound. An awful sound. She gave a gentle sob as the vibrations the plant had felt as Stan had thudded to the floor of his shed, and then died, were transcribed into vibes which she reluctantly deciphered.

  She screwed her eyes tighter and focused on the grapevine. It revealed more sounds to her — the sounds of scuffles inside the shed. Listening once more, Pepper understood that the scuffling sounds were probably the sounds made by another person entering the shed and checking what had happened to Stan. And then, after a few seconds, the sound of shuffling footsteps turned into footsteps moving away from the shed at speed. Somebody running away.

  Then the vibes softened, and Pepper could only hear and feel the sounds and sensations of beetles and worms working their way past the grapevine’s roots, and the sensation of a gentle breeze blowing across its limbs.

  Pepper stepped away from the plant and gasped, her mind swimming with the information the plant had given her.

  “Are you okay, Pepper?” asked Winston, approaching her with a look of concern on his face, his phone still in his hand. “You’ve gone very white, do you need to sit down? We could do without another accident around here.”

  “Really?” said Agnes. “I don’t think now is the time to be worrying about your silly health and safety, Winston.”

  Winston spun to face Agnes. “You don’t think now is the time to concentrate on health and safety — when a man is lying dead in a shed with his untied shoelace having caused him to fall and impale himself on the upturned prongs of a carelessly discarded rake? I’d say that now was the perfect time to be speaking about issues of health and safety.”

  “Could we all show a little respect, please?” said Mary, colour returning to her cheeks as she got to her feet. “A man has died.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Geoffrey. “And might I ask that everybody steps away from the area. Our young trainee doctor friend has confirmed that Stan is dead. There’s nothing more we can do — we should preserve the scene of the accident by stepping away from it, the police will need to investigate, and we’ve already stomped all over the place.”

  Joining the others as they headed away from Stan’s shed, Pepper ran the words through her mind before she spoke them. She could hardly tell the people present that she’d heard a rumour through the grapevine that Stan’s death hadn’t been an accident, but she was also aware that it would probably be prudent to at least place the seed of doubt in people’s minds before the police arrived. She took a deep breath. “We keep using the word accident,” she ventured. “Perhaps it wasn’t an accident?”

  Chapter 14

  “What are you saying?” said Agnes, turning a suspicious eye onto Pepper. “Not an accident? I’m sorry, but I think that’s a little disrespectful. It’s quite obvious that Stan tripped on his shoelace and fell onto the rake. I think it’s awful to be suggesting otherwise. This is an allotment garden in Picklebury, not...” She paused for a moment, her mouth moving but making no sound. “…not the Brinks!”

  “I think you mean the Bronx,” suggested Winston, as he pushed a wheelbarrow from out of the pathway.

  “I don’t know what I mean, Winston,” said Agnes. “The police officer in the station mentioned it yesterday, I must’ve misheard. Whatever the name of the place, Picklebury is certainly not it.” She glared at Pepper. “What are you suggesting, Miss Grinder? Are you suggesting that somebody sneaked up to Stan’s shed and tied his shoelace to the doorframe when he wasn’t looking?”

  Biting her tongue, Pepper shook her head. “No, of course not,” she said. “I met Stan in The Country Bumpkin earlier, and his shoelace was untied — he was complaining that his new laces wouldn’t stay tied. I know he tripped on his lace. I’m not for a moment suggesting that somebody tied his shoelace to the doorframe, that would be silly. What I am suggesting is that perhaps — just maybe, somebody might have pushed him and his shoelace became entangled, causing him to fall.”

  “Nonsense,” snapped Agnes. “And what on earth do you base that absurd suggestion on? The evidence is right there in Stan’s shed for all to see, and I’m sure the police will agree when they get here.” She looked towards the road as the sound of sirens echoed through the darkening sky. “Luckily, they seem to have arrived.”

  Geoffrey gave Pepper a curious look. “I’d like to know what you base that assumption on, too, Pepper,” he said. “That’s quite a statement to make.”

  Pepper gave a small shrug and a shake of her head. “I’m not basing it on anything,” she said, knowing how she must have sounded to everybody else. “It’s just one of those gut feelings.”

  “I must say, it sounds a little disrespectful to me,” said Agnes, leaning against a box built of railway sleepers which housed a rotting mound of vegetation. “Let’s wait and see what the police have to say before we begin speculating about the cause of poor Stan’s death.”

  Pepper simply nodded and watched with everybody else as bright blue lights lit the sky, and two police cars came to a screeching halt on the road.

  Two police officers climbed out of each of the vehicles and hurried into the allotments, each carrying a powerful torch which flooded the gardens with bright beams of light. The first officer to reach the group was Sergeant Saxon, and she appeared to raise an eyebrow when she noticed Pepper standing alongside everybody else. “What happened?” she asked. “We’ve had reports of a dead body — can somebody show me where it is, and are you sure the person is dead?”

  The trainee doctor stepped forward. “He’s in the shed behind you,” he said. “And I can confirm he’s dead. I’m training to be a doctor, but it wouldn’t take a medical professional to tell that he’s dead.”

  “Okay,” said Sergeant Saxon. “I’ll take a look.” She looked towards the road as more sirens screamed, and blue lights appeared over the hill. “The ambulance is here. I have to ask you all to remain here until one of the officers has taken statements from you.”

  “If you want us out of your way,” said Geoffrey. “We could wait in the community hall over the road?”

  Sergeant Saxon turned to Geoffrey, and recognition showed on her face. “Oh, hello, Sir.”

  “It’s not Sir any more,” said Geoffrey. “Please, Sergeant. Call me Geoffrey. Now, would you like us to wait in the hall while you do your work?”

  Sergeant Saxon nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind… Sir,” she said. “That would be a great help. I’ll send a police officer with you so he can begin taking statements.”

  After Pepper had given her statement to the policeman who seemed far too young to be holding such a position of responsibility, she accepted the cup of tea which Agnes offered her, and stepped outside the hall, taking a seat on the cold top step alongside Mary.

  Her h
usband had arrived to collect her and was standing in the car park alongside his car, staring out across the allotments with a frown on his face. Pepper stared too, watching the police and ambulance crew working in the bright circle of white provided by the lights on tall stands which they’d assembled outside Stan’s shed.

  Pepper counted forty-five minutes, and three cups of tea until the ambulance crew finally transported Stan’s covered body across the allotments on a stretcher. The police continued to work long after the ambulance had left, and before they packed the lights away and trudged back to their cars, they cordoned off a fifty-metre area around the scene of Stan’s unfortunate demise.

  As one of the police cars disappeared over the crest of the hill, it’s taillights illuminating the road behind it, Sergeant Saxon hopped into the other car and drove it the short distance from the allotments to the community hall. She greeted Pepper and Mary as she climbed the steps. “Would you like to join me inside?” she asked, although Pepper didn’t think it was a question.

  The policewoman blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the hall, and she joined her colleague where he stood next to the table. “We’ve finished our work in the allotments for the time being,” she said. “Although the area immediately around the scene of the accident will remain cordoned off until somebody has been to have a look around in daylight tomorrow. Our lights are good, but there’s always a chance that we might have missed something.”

  She removed her hat and gazed around the room. “At this stage, we believe the unfortunate death of Stan Wilmot to have been caused by a tragic accident. There’s no evidence of any foul play, but plenty of evidence pointing to one of those freak occurrences which nobody expects to happen to them. That being said, I’m sure it’s been quite a shock for some of you, so I would advise that you keep yourselves busy for the next few days, and should you start experiencing symptoms such as insomnia, anxiety, or depression — I’d suggest you speak to somebody who might be able to help. Seeing a dead body is never easy, especially in the awful circumstances in which Stan died.”

  “Should a report be sent to the health and safety executive?” asked Winston, a notepad in his hand with a pen poised above it. “And should I approach Picklebury Council with recommendations for additional safety measures which might stop such an incident from happening again in the future?”

  Sergeant Saxon stared at him for a moment and then shook her head. “Things like that will be dealt with by us,” she explained. “But I don’t think there’s much anybody can do to prevent an accident such as the one Stan had. People have accidents every day — it would be impossible to prevent them all.”

  “So,” said Agnes, her eyes briefly finding Pepper. “It was an accident?”

  Sergeant Saxon tilted her head, and she looked at Agnes with a hint of suspicion on her face. “What do you mean by that?” she asked. “Do you have information which might suggest it wasn’t an accident?”

  “Oh no,” said Agnes. “I have no doubt at all that it was an accident. His shoelace was untied, and his rake had been carelessly thrown on the floor of his shed. It was an accident waiting to happen.”

  “Then why mention it?” asked Sergeant Saxon.

  Geoffrey Stagg stepped forward. “Sergeant,” he said. “I think Agnes is referring to a conversation she had with Miss Grinder. Miss Grinder suggested it may not have been an accident, due to a gut feeling she had.” He removed his spectacles and smiled at the sergeant. “Are you quite sure it was an accident?”

  “Of course, Sir,” said Sergeant Saxon. “There’s absolutely no reason for us to think otherwise.”

  “We did see a suspicious looking man skulking around the allotments,” said Geoffrey.

  The young policeman cleared his throat and looked at his superior officer. “May I, Sergeant?” he asked.

  Sergeant Saxon nodded. “Go ahead.”

  The policeman flicked through his notebook. “When I took statements, several of you told me that it was quite usual for people to sneak around the allotments. Mrs Mowbray told me that allotment owners are the victims of vegetable theft on a regular basis. And Winston explained that the man you’d seen today had been nowhere near Stan’s shed.”

  Sergeant Saxon smiled at the policeman and turned to Geoffrey. “Is that right, sir?”

  “Call me Geoffrey, please, Sergeant,” urged the tall man. “Yes, that’s right. We often have intruders in the allotments, but despite that, I’d ask you to keep an open mind. When I served on the force, I often experienced the gut feelings that Miss Grinder spoke about, and a lot of them turned out to be accurate. I’m sure you’ve experienced them yourself over the years you’ve served, Sergeant?”

  “Well, yes,” said the policewoman. “Of course I have. What police officer hasn’t? But this is different. Unless Miss Grinder can give me a better reason than her having a gut feeling about it, I’m going to continue treating Stan’s death as an accident.” She turned her attention to Pepper. “Do you have any reason to think somebody would want to harm Stan?”

  Pepper’s face burned under the attention of all the eyes and the harsh light emitted by the single lightbulb which hung from the community hall ceiling. “I witnessed him arguing with two men in the pub. And then I saw him arguing with another two men outside his shed,” she said.

  “You didn’t mention either of these incidents when you gave me a statement,” said the policeman, scanning the pages of his book. “Why not?”

  “She was probably in shock,” said Geoffrey. “The poor lady was the first person to get up close to Stan’s body. She checked for a pulse. I’m sure she wasn’t thinking straight when she gave you a statement.”

  “Of course,” said Sergeant Saxon, glaring at her subordinate.

  “But without wishing to make light of Pepper’s observations,” continued Geoffrey. “Stan was always getting into trouble with somebody. During my time in charge of The Picklebury Constabulary, Stan Wilmot was often in conflict with somebody or the other. It wasn’t unusual to hear of him making enemies in the town. He had his fingers in a lot of pies, did Stan, and by that, I don’t mean he was a criminal. I simply mean he was a man with a lot going on.”

  “And he was an extremely careless man,” offered Winston. “I’ve warned him on numerous occasions about keeping his allotment a little tidier. His patch of land was an accident waiting to occur. I’m not surprised that it finally did happen.” He gave Mary’s husband a sideways glance, and dropped his eyes “No offence meant to the dead, Father Dominic.”

  Dominic smiled. “I’m not here to protect the honour of the dead, Winston,” he said. “I am here if any of you should need to speak to me, though. I’m sure that this evening has been traumatic for some of you. My door is always open, and I’ll be happy to lend a listening ear.”

  As Mary held her husband’s hand and gave him the same sort of look that Pepper had seen her friends give posters of Jon Bon Jovi when she’d been a teenager, she wondered how people did it. How they pretended that their relationships were perfect in front of other people. Whether those relationships were platonic or otherwise, people were intensely reluctant to admit that things were going wrong.

  Only an hour earlier, Mary was telling Pepper how her husband disliked her talking to other men and controlled the way she dressed, yet here she was, fawning all over him like he was Mister Perfect.

  Pepper knew why, though. Unlike her, who’d managed to find some sort of comfort in her own company and that of plants and animals, other people craved human interaction like heroin addicts craved the needle.

  It was the only thing that kept them going, and as they got older, and the chances of forging new relationships became less common, they were forced to hold on tightly to the ones they’d already formed. Clinging to them in a death grip if necessary, fooling themselves and others into thinking they were perfect. But that was life, Pepper supposed, and life wasn’t perfect. People did what they needed to to get through it.
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  Sergeant Saxon replaced her hat on her head and stepped forward. “We’ll take into consideration what you’ve told us, Miss Grinder,” she said. “And if you would provide my colleague with details of the altercations you witnessed, then of course we’ll investigate. Unfortunately — or fortunately for Stan, I’d suggest, I doubt that anything other than a tragic accident occurred this evening, and I’d ask you all to keep it to yourselves until any family Stan might have had has been informed.”

  Pepper felt a sudden sadness grip her. Until the Sergeant had spoken her last sentence, she hadn’t really allowed herself to focus on the fact that a man was dead, but now Sergeant Saxon had reduced the man to the past-tense, it upset her. Any family he might have had, she’d said, not any family he has. She took a deep breath. Poor Stan.

  The sergeant continued, her brown eyes conveying her sincerity. “I am sorry for Stan,” she said. “And I promise that we’ll look into any suspicions anybody has about his death, but sometimes accidents just happen. I see the tragic consequences of them regularly.”

  After Pepper had given the young policeman details of the men she’d seen arguing with Stan, she poured herself another cup of tea and stood in the open doorway of the hall, watching as the last police car drove away into the night. A hand touched her shoulder, and she instinctively pulled away.

  “I’m sorry,” came Mary’s soft voice. “Did I make you jump?”

  Not really, thought Pepper. You put your hand on me — of course I’m going to move away. “It’s okay,” she said, offering the woman a smile. “How are you feeling now?”

  “I’m still shaken, but I’ll be okay. The shock will soon wear off,” said Mary. “It’s not the first body I’ve seen. It was just the way in which I found it that came as a shock. I wasn’t expecting it. I’ll be fine by the morning.”