A Simple Country Deception

by Blythe Baker

“Here we are, Mr. Diggory,” Irene said, reappearing in the dining room, carrying a thermos of tea meant for outdoor traveling.

  “Oh, Mrs. Driscoll, I couldn’t possibly take this,” he said. “I’d be happy to just drink a cup quickly – ”

  “Nonsense,” Irene said. “Take it. Just make sure to bring it back. It’s Nathanial’s favorite when he takes Michael out fishing. Besides, I know you’re a very busy man. Please, it’s no trouble at all,” she said as he opened his mouth to protest.

  Mr. Diggory left soon after, leaving a sizable payment for Irene that I was certain she would have refused if she’d noticed it lying on the hostess stand.

  “It seems that Walter has started taking on odd jobs that our friend Sidney Mason would have done once upon a time,” I said to Irene in a low voice after some time had passed.

  She looked at me sidelong. “Is he now? Well, that’s interesting.”

  “Interesting indeed,” I said. “And I believe I know where I might be headed now.”

  Irene convinced me not to go that night, saying it was possible that he and the other workers may very well have cleaned up for the day. Agreeing, I decided that first thing after I closed up the haberdashery tomorrow, I was going to go and speak to Walter again.

  I headed out from my shop at three sharp, having had to usher out Mrs. Georgianna, who seemed to want nothing more than someone to calm her as she wept over the Inspector’s death like she had at the funeral.

  The cold weather was still hanging around after yesterday. All morning, I’d heard hardly anything apart from the fact that it was so much colder this year than it had been in years past in September. Even with the sun shining overheard, it was still chilly enough that the wind seemed to cut right through the fabric of my jacket.

  My cheeks were flushed by the time I made it across town, but I cared little as I heard the sounds of hammers and saws further along the road.

  I came upon a group of men outside a rather rundown looking cottage just a short distance down from the house that belonged to Miss Harmon, the woman who’d recently killed a widow out of jealousy, leaving her young daughter and a mystery behind. The roof looked as if it had been struck by a fallen tree, and the lovely yellowed stone walls had cracked along the bottom.

  A man stood beside the wall with a bucket of some sort of cement in his hands, slathering it against the wall. Another measured the length of the broken window, biting down on a pencil between his teeth in concentration.

  Walter was there, too, up on the roof of the house, hammering some tiles into the roof while another man beside him ripped broken tiles out.

  A rather rotund man with a protective hat on his head turned to look at me. “No one who isn’t a worker is allowed on this site,” the man said, his brow furrowing.

  I stepped up to the fence. “My apologies, sir. I was just hoping to get a word with Walter. Just for a moment, of course. I can see how busy you are.”

  There were glances from several of the workers, and the man in charge, likely Mr. Adams, sighed as he turned to look up at the rooftop.

  “Graves!” the man shouted, cupping his hands over his mouth. “There’s a woman here to see you.”

  Walter stopped his hammering and looked down, his eyes falling on Mr. Adams for a brief moment, and then sliding over to me. His gaze widened, and his mouth hung slightly open in surprise.

  He climbed down off the roof and started over toward me.

  “Mrs. Lightholder,” Walter said, wiping his dirty hands on a cloth he procured from the back pocket of his trousers. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  I glanced over his shoulder, seeing more than one pair of eyes watching us, almost eagerly, to overhear just the smallest bit of our conversation.

  I hadn’t considered how this might look, or who might talk when they heard I’d gone to visit Sam’s brother.

  “Could we talk for a moment?” I asked, realizing that the best thing I could do was get him away from the others.

  His brow furrowed for a moment. “Yes, I suppose that’s all right,” he said.

  Mr. Adams watched us cautiously as we walked away, just down the street.

  “Is everything all right?” Walter asked. “You look quite worried about something.”

  The truth was, this was not the most subtle I’d been about finding information, was it?

  I had to think quickly, knowing that I needed him to tell me one way or another if he was the one who had killed his brother. I needed to catch him off guard enough to startle him, but also ensure I did my best not to evoke the anger he was so well known for.

  So without any further thinking, I pretended to burst into tears.

  Hiding my face behind my hands, I turned away from Walter, laying it on as thick as I possibly could.

  “I’m – I’m sorry,” I sobbed, still shielding my face from him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I – I just can’t make sense of any of this.”

  Walter was making nervous sounds behind me, and I heard him shuffling around. “Oh – Mrs. Lightholder, I – What can I do? What’s happened?”

  I continued to cry, feeling my face grow hot and tears surprisingly springing to my eyes as I willed them there.

  “Here, please, Mrs. Lightholder…won’t you sit down? Can I get you something? A drink, perhaps?” he asked.

  I nodded, and allowed him to guide me back to a park bench alongside the road.

  I sat, trying to take calming breaths. Now that I’d started with the tears, I was finding it somewhat difficult to calm my nerves.

  “I’ll be right back, as soon as I find you a drink – ” he said.

  I reached out and laid my hand on his arm, shaking my head. “N – no, it’s all right,” I said. “I am sorry, Walter, I just…” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

  He reached into his front pocket and procured a handkerchief.

  I took it, somewhat concerned about whether or not it was clean, and so I held it tightly between my hands in my lap, sniffling.

  “Whatever has happened to you, Mrs. Lightholder?” he asked, taking a seat on the bench beside me.

  I looked up at him, not doing anything to hide the tear stains on my cheeks. “To be quite honest, Walter, I am just beside myself about your brother. I cannot sleep, I cannot eat…I just cannot stop thinking about whoever it was that could have done this…this terrible thing to your brother.”

  I clutched the handkerchief tightly in my hands.

  “I just cannot understand how someone could do such a thing…” I said, and I looked Walter in the eye. His were the same shade of blue as Sam’s. “Who, Walter? Who would have done this?”

  Walter stared at me, searching my face, sorrow filling his own. “I…” he said.

  My heart skipped as I stared at him, willing him to admit it to me, willing him to confess.

  “I have no idea…” he said, his voice cracking, and turned away from me.

  He rose from the bench, walking a few steps away, rubbing his chin with his fingers.

  “It’s the same question that’s been tormenting me,” he said, stopping, hands on his hips, his voice low. “And why wouldn’t it be? Sam was…well, he saved my life.”

  I blinked at him. “Saved your life?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, maybe not in the way you’re thinking,” Walter said. “But he was the reason why I’ve stopped drinking. I hated it, hated him for it. He pushed me, over and over. It was tough, and I was furious with him most of the time…but then things started to get easier. I started to feel more…well, like myself.”

  He sighed, looking down at the ground.

  “I’m indebted to him, for the miracle that he brought into my life. He never gave up on me, and then…” he shook his head. “He was gone. Just like that. One call on the telephone, and I learned my brother, my rescuer, was gone.”

  My heart sank as I stared at him. This was not the sort of thing a man who’d murdered his own brother would say, was it?
Walter truly loved Sam. I could see it as clear as day on his face.

  “You know…” Walter said. “I’ve been doing a great deal of thinking since I’ve given up alcohol. And…well, I realized how terrible I was to your aunt. I know she’s gone, now, too, but I really did care about her. She really was a wonderful woman, and I certainly never deserved her, especially given the way I treated her. I wish I could have been better back then, so things could have maybe worked out between the two of us.”

  That touched my heart in a way I had not expected. Suddenly, I felt terrible for lying to him the way I had, emotionally manipulating him into telling me what he had about his brother.

  “Thank you…” I said to him. “I’m certain she would have appreciated those sentiments. She cared for you. Just like your brother did.”

  I saw his face fall, and he nodded at the ground.

  “Yes,” he said. “If only I had the chance to tell them both that now.”

  10

  I was back at square one. Not for the first time, of course, but it was always frustrating when all of the suspects I’d found ended up being innocent.

  It wasn’t as if I wanted any of the suspects to be guilty. I didn’t like the idea of anyone being found to be a murderer…especially to be the killer of a friend like Sam Graves. It was unsettling, though, realizing I was still many steps away from discovering who had been the one to kill him in the first place, and I felt quite downtrodden because of it. Who knew if the murderer would strike again to keep someone quiet? What if they figured out I was attempting to get at the truth?

  Regardless, I knew there was nothing more I could do without some more outside information.

  As I stood at my window, overlooking the steely grey morning outside, I missed Sam. Really missed him. If he was here, we would have figured this case out long ago.

  Almost three weeks had gone by since his death, and life in Brookminster was starting to go back to normal. His name was mentioned less by the customers coming into my haberdashery. I saw fewer troubled faces out in the street, as if people had somehow forgotten what had happened. I heard more laughter, and parents seemed less frightened to allow their children to play outside after dark.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised, but for some reason, I found myself becoming angry with these people. How could they be so insensitive? Weren’t they afraid? Losing such a prominent member of the community…that wasn’t just a minor inconvenience. This meant something darker was afoot, didn’t it?

  I pulled my cup of tea closer to myself, allowing the steam to caress the side of my face.

  I cannot make them feel sorrow for Sam, I realized. Yet I wish people would not so easily return to normalcy. It makes his life feel cheap and wasted.

  I knew that wasn’t true, given the sheer number of folk who had showed up for his funeral, and those that had grieved for weeks.

  Eventually, life had to return to normal. There was no choice. And in the grand scheme of things, it was certainly better than wallowing in sorrow for so long.

  I needed more information if I was going to wrap this case up any time soon. The only place I was going to find that information was from the police station.

  Sergeant Newton was my best bet. He’d warned me to keep my distance, the same way that Sam had so many months ago…but like I did then, I had to ignore orders.

  I readied myself that morning, adorning a comfortable, conservative outfit in dark blue. Black may have been asking for too much attention, showing I still grieved for Sam, even when I didn’t feel as if I’d earned the right to do so. Blue was safer, but would certainly still demonstrate my desire to respect Sam and his death. I also hoped it would help me to go unnoticed by that witch who worked at the reception desk.

  I headed out before too long, leaving a note on my door assuring my customers that I would be open that day, but would be opening later than usual. It was Thursday, so I knew this would likely upset Mrs. Haymitch, but I was more prepared for her anger than for Mrs. Georgianna’s, who had the ability to make me feel guilty with nothing more than a simple phrase.

  The police station seemed quiet that morning, something I was incredibly grateful for. No line out the door, nor were there many people waiting just inside. No more than two men ahead of me, likely with nothing all that complicated or life threatening.

  I waited toward the back, as patiently as I could, doing my best to avoid eye contact with anyone up at the front. My heart was beating erratically, my throat tight, and my mouth dry. I didn’t want to see them, but I had to do this for Sam.

  The two men in front of me cleared the line quickly; one was delivering a package, and the other looking to pay a parking fine he’d received.

  Rachel the receptionist directed him away from her desk toward a sign posted on the hallway. “Don’t take any other turns, sir, or you might find yourself lost.”

  She might have been pretty, if it wasn’t for the fake smiles she pasted on her face whenever she looked up at the people entering the station.

  She turned her gaze up to me as I approached the desk, and her eyes nearly snapped shut, becoming nothing more than thin slivers, like a snake’s.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the little deceiving spy?” Rachel sneered, wrinkling her nose at me. “What could you possibly want here? Sam’s dead.”

  I glared at her. “You could be a bit more respectful of the dead,” I said.

  Rachel met my glare with her own. “Oh? And what about you? Coming to see if he left you in his will or something?”

  I gaped at her. This woman had a great deal of nerve, didn’t she? I bit my tongue, though, the retort hanging there nasty and clever, and decided against it. I didn’t need her to throw me out before I got what I’d come for. “I need to speak to Sergeant Newton,” I said in as flat of a voice as I could.

  “Sergeant Newton?” Rachel repeated back to me. “What could you possibly want with him?”

  “That’s not your concern,” I said. “It’s rather important, though, so if you could please direct me to where his office is – ”

  “I think not,” Rachel said with a harsh chuckle. “He didn’t say anything to me about visitors today. Especially not you.”

  “He isn’t expecting me,” I said. “But I would still like to – ”

  “Just who do you think you are?” Rachel hissed. “You come in here, time after time, expecting these men to just drop whatever it is they are doing to – ”

  “Rachel, is everything all right?”

  A chill ran down my spine as I looked up to see Officer Locklier, who had once worked with Sam. I had seen him around before and he’d never had any liking for me.

  He looked as menacing as I remembered. The same perfectly trimmed dark hair, the same narrow jaw, the same beady grey eyes.

  “Ah, Mrs. Lightholder…” he said in a cool tone. “What a surprise to see you here. Hadn’t you heard? Sam Graves is dead. I’m terribly sorry to be the one to tell you, but he won’t be here any longer for you to bother.”

  “I am well aware of Sam’s passing,” I said. “I was devastated when I heard – ”

  Locklier rolled his eyes. “Devastated, were you? How long did you know him? Nothing more than a few months? Not nearly long enough for him to make a true impact on you.”

  I could only stare at him. How dare he speak to me like that!

  “What do you want?” he asked. “Trying to sink your claws into someone new, are you?”

  “I’m here to see Sergeant Newton,” I said. “And I would really appreciate it if – ”

  “No, sorry,” Locklier said, grabbing a stack of files in a folder hanging on the wall beside the reception desk. “You can’t.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because there is nothing you need to say to him that you can’t say to us, or leave in a request,” he said. “We are very busy around here, and we don’t have time to deal with your petty problems.”

  Petty problems? If he knew I was here investigat
ing Sam’s death, would he think that was petty as well?

  “I’ll ask you, then, what you were here to see him about,” Locklier said. “Unless you’re too embarrassed to say.”

  “I’m not embarrassed,” I said. “But it has nothing to do with you. Is there no such thing as privacy?”

  “Not in this place, no,” Locklier said. He glanced through the first few pages of the files he’d grabbed from the wall beside the desk. “Now, if you don’t care to share the reason for your visit, I’ll kindly ask you to turn around and leave the station. We have far more important matters to deal with today, and you are doing nothing more than wasting our time.”

  Fuming, I realized he would not allow me to see the Sergeant. Entirely at his mercy, and not wanting to cause a scene, I decided the best course of action was to just comply.

  “Fine,” I said, turning on my heel. I made my way from the station, hearing the subtle sounds of Rachel and Locklier whispering behind me.

  I stepped out into the cool late September morning, my blood boiling in my veins.

  I had never been treated so horribly in all my life. To have someone be so utterly unkind, so inconsiderate…

  No chance to speak with Sergeant Newton. It looked as if that opportunity might not ever come, unless I managed to lie to Rachel over the phone or something, and I couldn’t imagine that Sergeant Newton would be exactly pleased to find out I’d lied to get in touch with him –

  “Helen, wait!”

  I turned, and to my surprise, Constable Chamberlin hurried out the door after me, a look of worry on his face.

  I hadn’t seen him since the day Irene had brought him to my house, when we were investigating the death of my aunt Vivian. He had been there the night they’d found her body, and had willingly come forward to tell me the strange circumstances surrounding her death.

  “Constable Chamberlin,” I said, my eyes widening. “What are you – ”

  “Come with me,” he said in a low voice, glancing over his shoulder. “And keep our conversation ordinary.”

  I listened to him, and we began walking down the street.