“Let’s go, then.” Marnie caught her arm, holding her back from following the others to the door. “I’m sorry, love. I should’ve thought before bringing Perry. He wanted to enjoy an evening together. Next time, I’ll ask well in advance to allow you to decide.”
Motts shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s okay.”
“I’m sure it isn’t.” Marnie smiled, then followed the others down the hall out of the cottage. “Don’t forget to lock up behind us.”
Chapter Eleven
“Post sensory overload hangover. Brilliant. And all I drank was hot chocolate.” Motts woke to an insistent paw poking her eyeball. “Yes, Cactus, I’m aware the sun is up and the alarm is going. If you were extra clever, you could turn it off for me.”
Meow.
“My apologies. I’m failing you.” She shoved the blanket off her, sat up slowly, and cringed at the dampness around the collar of her T-shirt. “Sodding hot flashes. Useless things.”
Meow.
Deciding a shower was a must. Motts hopped under the icy-cold stream and instantly regretted the decision. She dashed out, teeth chattering and cursing every aspect of the morning.
Motts stared down at Cactus, who sat patiently in the bathroom doorway. She grabbed her large and fluffy bathrobe to wrap around herself. “Well, breakfast can only improve the day, right?”
Cactus followed her downstairs, through the small cottage and into the kitchen. Motts put the kettle on, dropped two pieces of bread into the toaster, and then stretched out on the floor to stare up at the ceiling. She contemplated her life choices until the kettle whistled.
Coffee and lemon curd on toast mildly improved her view of the world. Cactus happily munched on his morning snack. Motts clutched her warm mug and tried to pull her thoughts together.
Marnie had promised to pick her up so they could visit with Amy O’Connell. Motts couldn’t help wondering what Detective Inspector Ash thought of his wife aiding and abetting an amateur investigation into his case. Not my marriage, not my confusing conundrum.
Ten minutes later, Motts rushed around getting dressed, making sure her pets had snacks and water, and locking up. She sat outside on the bench in her front yard, waiting for Marnie. Clouds were gathering in the distance; they were in for a summer storm.
“What on earth did the morning do to you?” Marnie asked when Motts grumpily got into the car. “Maybe we should stop for a cup of tea. It’ll sort you right out.”
During the summer months, traffic was restricted in the village. Tourists had to park at the top of the hill and walk or take a cab down. Most chose the former; the weather and narrow streets made for picturesque strolls.
“What exactly is the wrong side of the bed? How is there a good or bad? It’s just the floor… and the edge of the mattress.” Motts considered the phrase all the way through the village. “How is one different from the other?”
“Just a turn of phrase.”
“Everyone always says it’s ‘just a turn of phrase,’ but words mean things. You say them for a reason.” Motts had, over the years, spent many hours researching where specific idioms came from in the hopes of understanding. “Want to swing by the café for coffee and whatever new invention they have?”
“After.” Marnie patted her arm. “We can reward ourselves for being polite.”
“Why would we need to reward ourselves?” Motts frowned.
“You’ve met both Mikey and Jasper, right?” She continued after Motts nodded, “Jasper gets his charming personality from his mum.”
“Brilliant.” Motts didn’t know if one side of the bed or the other was better or worse. She did know her mood occasionally flared, another wonderful addition to her life since perimenopause showed up. “Will she even chat with us?”
“Amy O’Connell? Resist the urge to gossip about her mum? Doubtful. You’ll see.” Marnie looped her arm around Motts’s, guiding her down one of the narrow lanes, then up a steep set of stairs. The old O’Connell cottage was on the opposite side of the village from hers. “Here we are. Cheerful place.”
Motts stared at the cottage. It looked like something straight out of an Edgar Allen Poe poem. She glanced around half expecting a raven to be guarding the place. “Cheerful is certainly a word.”
“Don’t ring the bell. You’ll disturb Bob.” A scratchy voice yelled out from the cottage before they’d even come all the way up the walk. “Door’s open if you must bother me.”
Cheerful soul.
“Bob?” Motts whispered, glancing over at Marnie, who was smothering her laughter into the crook of her elbow. “Who is Bob?”
“Her dog. A small, wiry, bitey version of Amy.” Marnie managed to pull herself together by the time they got to the door. “We’re coming in, Amy.”
“Well? Come on then. I’m not making tea, so don’t ask.”
And this is a woman who cared for her ailing mother?
Motts didn’t know what to expect when they made their way through the cottage. The hallway with old family photos and shelves filled with immaculate porcelain dolls was beyond creepy. She wanted to run back to the door and far away from the mothball-scented, claustrophobic air. “What on God’s green earth?”
“You been hanging around Hughie again?” Marnie teased.
“Quit your muttering and get in here if you must interrupt my morning,” Amy shouted once again. Her words punctuated by an angry yapping. Bob, obviously. “Well?”
From the voice and the crotchety words, Motts had created a vision of Amy O’Connell in her mind as someone who would fit right into Hansel and Gretel without a problem. In reality, she appeared like a mild-mannered woman. She had pale, watery blue eyes and equally pale skin, with her honey-brown hair pulled so tightly into a bun that not a single hair dared be out of place.
“Hello, Amy.” Marnie stood by the sofa across from the armchair where Mrs O’Connell sat with the scruffiest terrier Motts had ever seen. “Should we sit?”
“If you must.”
Meticulous.
Despite the massive number of dolls and photos, the entire cottage had an air of almost clinical organisation. It made Motts uncomfortable. She’s certainly something. What must it have been like to grow up in a cottage with all these porcelain faces staring at you?
Everything was clean. Motts didn’t see a speck of dust on a picture frame. The place smelled of the industrial cleaners used at a hospital.
Motts shuddered at the thought. What do I say? Condolences? That’s what people usually say, right? “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“She wasn’t a loss.” Amy O’Connell’s calculating gaze swung in her direction. “You’re living in Daisy’s cottage.”
“My auntie. Yes.” Motts blinked at the sharp change of topic. “She left the cottage to me.”
“You found a body.” Amy patted Bob on the head when he woofed at the intruders into his space. “Two, given you stumbled on my mother.”
“We wanted to offer our condolences,” Marnie interjected into the conversation. “I can’t imagine having to wonder for three years.”
Amy huffed at Marnie. “My mother and I were chalk and cheese. You know this. Why are you here pretending as if you think I’m sobbing my heart out into one of her hideous crocheted pillows?”
The conversation danced around for a few more minutes. Marnie kept trying to coax Amy into casual chat. It wasn’t working.
Motts was beginning to reach the limit of her ability to sit in the cottage. The dolls’ eyes all seemed to focus on her. “Did you kill her?”
“Motts,” Marnie hissed.
“What? She doesn’t want to natter on about her. She obviously hated her.” Motts hadn’t seen a point to trying to be subtle any longer. “Someone murdered her mother. And she’s not broken up about it.”
“Get out, you nosy cows!” Amy cursed them all the way out of the cottage. Bob followed, nipping at their heels. “Why don’t you find the poxy scumbag who skulked around the village the summer my sainted mother we
nt missing?”
Motts stared at the door that had been slammed in their faces. She shoved her hands into her cardigan pockets. “Well, she’s definitely not going to invite us to tea ever again.”
“Was this your idea of good cop, ‘slam them in the face’ cop?” Marnie asked.
“What?” Motts carefully wound her way down the stairs toward the village. “Time for our reward. We learned two interesting facts.”
“Oh?” Marnie caught up to her at the base of the steps.
“Amy O’Connell hated her mother. She kept a meticulously clean house, so being around germs was probably not high on her priority list. Or did she sanitise the cottage from top to bottom after the body was found?” She considered all the family photos she’d seen. “None of those pictures looked like they were of someone Nadine’s age. It was all Amy and her horrid son, Jasper. Mikey wasn’t anywhere to be seen either.”
“The prodigal son verses the favourite?”
“Maybe.” Motts dodged an excited family of tourists bustling down the pavement toward the harbour. She winced at the loud shouts from the children. “Coffee? And we mustn’t forget the skulking scumbag.”
“She means hiker. There were loads that summer. I remember.” Marnie followed her toward Griffin Brews.
In the short time they were at the O’Connell cottage, holiday visitors had already begun to arrive. Motts regretted not bringing her earbuds with her. She usually kept a spare pair in her pockets to dull the noise and save herself from a sensory overload meltdown.
“Come on. I’m sure the twins will have a warm cuppa for us.” Marnie caught her sleeve and gently led her around another couple, both with cameras around their necks. They made it into the café. “Oh, curry and chocolate croissants. Don’t let me eat more than two.”
“Hello, dearies.” Leena spotted them first. She came over to give Motts a hug. “Hmm, I believe you need some quiet. Into the kitchen with you both.”
“I’m fine,” Motts tried to insist. Leena knew her well enough to ignore her protests.
She got them settled at the small table in the corner of the kitchen with two mugs of their special blended hot lattes and a few croissants. “Eat up.”
Nish joined them halfway through their first croissant. He dropped into one of the chairs, sending up a cloud of flour around him. “How’d your visit go?”
“I asked if she murdered her mother,” Motts admitted.
“So, brilliantly then?” Nish stretched an arm behind him to snag a few treats straight out of one of the trays. “Here. These are only just cooled. You’ll enjoy these. A baked sweet with a mixture of dark chocolate, coconut, and cashews. We combined our traditional Barfi treat with all the ingredients of a brownie.”
Motts inhaled the square treat. “I could scarf down the entire tray.”
“Brilliant. Vina will be pleased. She came up with the idea with Amma.” Nish grabbed a second one to split and share with her. “Did you learn anything about Amy?”
“Clean. Very clean. Too clean.” Motts stared down at the crumbs on the table. She wondered what design it would create to play connect the dots with them. “She definitely hated her mother.”
She kept thinking back to the photos on the wall in the O’Connell cottage. And the lack of Nadine or Mikey. What did he think of his mum’s behaviour? She made a mental note to try to talk with him again.
What could it hurt?
He might tell me something he wouldn’t say to Perry or Teo. They can intimidate without even meaning to do so.
But first, I’m having another not-brownie.
Returning home an hour later, Motts had never appreciated her cosy cottage more. The soft, faded carpets her auntie had bought once upon a time on her travels. The bright paintings, photos, and quilled art on the walls. The soft fleece blankets were strewn across the back of her sofa and armchairs. It felt comfortably lived in.
The O’Connell place had been a strange, creepy mausoleum of a cottage.
Meow.
And her cottage had living creatures, not rows of beautiful porcelain dolls with dead eyes.
Chapter Twelve
“Chocolate?”
Motts briefly regretted not changing out of her incredibly soft turtle pyjamas and bunny slippers before answering the door. She shrugged internally. If Teo had an issue with her clothes, it was his problem, not hers. “Chocolate?”
Teo lifted the small box in his left hand. “I come bearing gifts in the hopes you’ll tell me about your visit with Amy O’Connell.”
“Good cop?”
“What?” Teo stepped inside when she waved him into the cottage. “Nice slippers.”
“Soft.” Motts picked up Cactus, who’d come to inspect their visitor. “Had coffee yet?”
“A few.” He followed her through the cottage and watched her open the windows and back door. “Fresh air?”
“Feeling claustrophobic.” Motts had suffered nightmares about walls closing in and a porcelain doll. “Mothballs and cleanliness.”
“Mothballs and cleanliness?” Teo sat in what was fast becoming his armchair. Cactus leapt up to perch on his thigh. “Did you go visiting Amy O’Connell?”
Motts curled up on the sofa, perusing the selection of Kernow Chocolate bars Teo had brought to her. “Oh. White Chocolate and lemon meringue. My favourite combination.”
“Mothballs,” Teo prompted when she silently considered her bounty of chocolate.
She refused to fidget under the weighty stare of the detective inspector. “We offered our condolences.”
“To a bitter woman who didn’t give a damn about her own mum? In my unofficial opinion.” Teo reclined into the chair, allowing Cactus to make himself at home in his lap. “Did you pick up anything? She was rather dismissive of my questions. Strange, considering Nadine O’Connell had been missing for three years. You’d think the family would want answers.”
“Come sit in the kitchen so I don’t have to shout.” Motts hated raising her voice. She’d gone through a dreadful time at school where her teachers alternated between remonstrating her for being too quiet or overly loud. “Want a coffee?”
“I have a feeling I’m going to need one.” Teo carried Cactus into the kitchen with him. “Has this one had his walk yet?”
“Not quite.” Motts had hit the snooze button on her alarm a number of times this morning. “We had a rough time sleeping. Who inherited the O’Connell business and money?”
“Mikey.”
“Mikey?” Motts paused in the process of pulling mugs out of the cupboard. “I thought the elder son, Jasper, ran the business. And wouldn’t Amy have inherited directly from her mother?”
“You’d think.” Teo absently patted Cactus on the head, earning his eternal adoration. “There wasn’t any love lost between them.”
“The whole family?” Motts had seen a lot of animosity between the brothers. She couldn’t imagine Amy O’Connell being inclined to kindness to anyone, including her own sons. “That cottage could make me want to murder someone.”
“It has an aura about it.”
“Like a horror movie.” She shuddered. “Never seen a house more perfectly suited for a story of a doll coming to life and seeking revenge.”
“You have a vivid imagination.” Teo accepted the mug of coffee she offered.
“Too vivid. I carefully curate what I watch to avoid nightmares and bizarre dreams.” Motts had given up watching most television and movies. YouTube was far safer to ensure she got some sleep. “Can you imagine growing up there?”
Teo was the one to shudder this time. “I’d prefer to never put that visual in my mind. What happened to not investigating?”
Motts shrugged. “My curiosity has gotten the better of me. Naff thing. I apparently come by it naturally.”
She hoped finding dead bodies wouldn’t become a habit. The one in the garden had been terrifying enough. She didn’t know if her mental health could handle a continuing reoccurrence.
Jenny
. The poor girl in the garden. Nadine O’Connell in the sea.
Am I cursed?
Don’t be silly.
Finishing up putting her usual breakfast together, Motts settled at the table after putting Cactus’s breakfast on the counter for him. She bit into her first slice of toast. Everything seemed better with freshly baked bread; she’d have to thank Nish for dropping it off for her.
“Handy having best mates who run a bakery.” Teo took a long sip of coffee. “New brew?”
“Mum sent some down from London. She’s got a subscription.” Motts shook her head and tried not to roll her eyes. “She’s tried about fifty different types. Dad says they’ve enough coffee to last a millennium. He’s exaggerating. I hope. I can never tell.”
“I’d imagine he’s joking.” Teo had another drink. “Good stuff.”
“Want a bag?” Motts gestured to the cupboard that hid several her dad had sent to her. “I’ve more than enough. It’s a tad stronger than my usual coffee.”
“Keep them. It gives me an excuse to come see you for breakfast.” He smiled.
“Why do you need an excuse?” Motts frowned at him. “Neurotypical flirting.”
Teo’s smile morphed into a chuckle. “Always an unexpected take with you.”
Deciding to take it as a compliment, Motts focused on her toast. Dating was strange. She didn’t think she’d ever get the hang of it.
Motts finished the last bite of her toast and washed it down with her milky coffee. “Did the torn bit of coat I found help at all?”
Teo eyed her over his mug for a second. “Too early to tell. We know it’s part of her coat. It hasn’t led us to the killer. I’m pulling all the CCTV footage available in the hopes of identifying ships going out to sea in the days before you found her.”
“Amy O’Connell mentioned a hiker in the area around the time her mum disappeared.”
Teo’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Did she? You must’ve riled her up. She said less than nothing to me. Granted, there are hundreds of hikers in the area during the summer. I’ll look into it.”
Pierced Peony Page 7
