A Simple Country Deception

by Blythe Baker

  “Well…how are you doing?” he asked. “How is life treating you?”

  “Things are quite good, thank you,” I said. “And how have you been? How is your family?”

  “Doing very well, thank you,” he said. I could see that his focus was on everyone around us, and not our conversation. His eyes darted over every face, and he continually looked over his shoulder.

  He took a right down the next side street, which was more residential than High Street. A lovely park was tucked away between the library and a home that I believed belonged to the Mayfield’s. He turned into the park, which seemed entirely empty apart from the trees slowly losing their autumn leaves, as well as the gurgling stone fountain in the center of the path.

  “All right, it should be safe to talk here,” he said, dropping his voice as he ducked behind a rather scraggly looking bush. “I’m sorry to usher you away like that, but I didn’t want anyone to overhear us.”

  “What happened?” I asked. “How did you – ”

  “I saw you speaking to Locklier,” Chamberlin said, his nose wrinkling. “The man has been insufferable since Sam passed away.”

  “I can imagine that…”

  Chamberlin gave me a pointed look. “Did I overhear you correctly? You were hoping to speak to Sergeant Newton?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “It was about something rather important.”

  “Does it have to do with Sam’s murder?” Chamberlin asked.

  Some of the color drained from my face. “How…how did you know?”

  He licked his lips, looking around, even though we were very much alone. “Sergeant Newton is the one who has been in charge of investigating Sam’s murder,” he said. “He was Sam’s closest friend in the station, and I know for certain he was one of the few people that Sam trusted.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

  “Because I know you truly care about the outcome of all this,” Chamberlin said. “I don’t care if there was anything happening between you and the Inspector or not. I do not involve myself in spreading rumors. But all the speculations surrounding Sam’s death…”

  “What sort of speculations?” I asked.

  Chamberlin glanced over the bush before he leaned in closer to me. “I overheard Sergeant Newton speaking with the chief yesterday. It seems the autopsy report for Sam finally came back.”

  “What took it so long?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Chamberlin said. “Perhaps since the victim was a member of the police force, they spent a great deal of time working on the report.”

  “Even after the body had already been buried?” I asked.

  Chamberlin nodded, his brow furrowed. “It could have been because of what they found when they did the autopsy. It…well, it was troubling to say the least.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “How so?”

  “He was…are you certain you wish for me to tell you this?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said without even considering. “I’ve been trying to do what I could to help figure this all out as well.”

  “Well…it seems that he was killed in an unconventional way,” Chamberlin said. “His body was punctured in multiple places, but it wasn’t with a weapon, exactly. It was a piece of glass, part of which broke off and into his flesh.”

  A shiver ran down my spine, and I stared up at him. “A piece of glass?” I asked. A thousand questions ran through my mind, and I wondered what in the world had happened to cause that sort of murder. “Was it a crime of passion? Or maybe spur of the moment?”

  “That was the chief’s thought,” Chamberlin said. “But Sergeant Newton seems to be of the opinion that this might have been the work of someone who didn’t want the evidence being drawn back to themselves. He thinks it was someone who had experience with killings.”

  The bile rose in the back of my throat. “Who are they suspecting it might be?” I asked.

  “They don’t know,” Chamberlin said, running his hands over his face, his gaze distant. “But I, like them, have worried that it might actually be someone…close to home.”

  “You mean on the police force?” I asked, startled. “But why would another officer kill him? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You only saw Sam’s perception of the station,” he said. “There were many who were jealous of him and his position. Sam could get away with anything he wanted, but he never took advantage of that. He did everything by the book, and if anyone else stepped out of line, he made sure to let them know.”

  “I understand that made many others angry,” I said. “Especially those who enjoyed skirting their responsibilities or coasting through their jobs.”

  “Exactly,” Chamberlin said. “The chief wonders if it might have been someone vying for Sam’s job. He always received the interesting cases, and was paid quite well. There are many during these war-torn times who would give almost anything to make sure they can provide better for their families…or for themselves.”

  “You think someone on the force might have taken things that far? Out of jealousy?” I asked. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t heard of people killing for less, but even still…

  “It’s possible,” Chamberlin said. “However…my fear is that it could have been someone in the military. Between that camp outside of town, the injured soldier’s hospital at the manor, and all of the rumors pegging Sidney Mason as a German spy, it wouldn’t surprise me if there was a great deal more going on beneath the surface that we never knew about.”

  It was as if I’d swallowed a stone.

  “I just wonder if Sam was getting close to something that he was never supposed to,” he said.

  This couldn’t be happening. I’d been so careful, so incredibly careful –

  “Helen, are you all right?” he asked. “I’m terribly sorry, I shouldn’t have put all this on you. I – ”

  I wasn’t listening. Had I somehow inadvertently brought this upon Sam? Had his involvement in my life somehow been the reason he’d been killed.

  “Chamberlin, I’m fine,” I said, trying to force a smile. “But if it’s all right with you, I should like to go on home now. I’m worried that if you are away from the station too long, others will notice.”

  His eyes widened. “You’re right. As I said, I am sorry about telling you all this. It’s possible that none of it is true. But I do know that the Sergeant and the chief are working hard to locate Sam’s killer. And then we can all rest easy.”

  “Yes, I certainly hope so,” I said.

  I started off toward home soon after, bidding Chamberlin goodbye. My thoughts quickly turned to Sam, though, and the possibility that it had been someone in the military who had taken his life.

  I had been very careful to not tell Sam specifics, especially with anything in regards to Roger’s death, or in reality, his faked death. I also had not told Sam the details of Sidney’s death, which was closely tied to Roger.

  How could anyone have known, apart from Sam and me? I knew he wouldn’t have told anyone what little he knew, and I certainly hadn’t said anything…

  That wouldn’t matter, though, would it, if they suspected that he did know everything I knew. That would make him a hazard, a liability.

  And a piece of glass would be much harder to trace than a knife or a gun, wouldn’t it?

  11

  I had a difficult time digesting everything that Chamberlin had shared with me. It seemed entirely unreal, thinking it could have been one of the police, or even worse…someone in the army.

  More than that, was Sam’s connection to me what ended up getting him killed in the end?

  It was as if a knife had been lodged in my chest as I made my way back into the heart of town.

  I needed to talk to someone. And the only person I could think to speak with was Irene. She may have been one of the few people left that I could trust.

  I made straight for the teahouse, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. Worried that I was going to be too early, I li
ngered outside the front door, looking in.

  The door swung inward a moment later, and Nathanial peered outside. “Helen, what are you doing out there?” he asked, rubbing his arms with his hands. “It’s terribly cold outdoors. Please, come inside.”

  I didn’t argue, as the temperature certainly seemed to be dropping.

  The teahouse was incredibly warm. The fireplace against the eastern wall was full of crackling logs, filling the room with a comfortable glow. There were quite a few customers strewn about the room, enjoying the soothing tea that Irene and Nathanial offered to them, along with freshly baked cakes and breads.

  “Is everything all right?” Nathanial asked, taking my coat from me. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but you look as if you might be falling ill.”

  “I’m not entirely sure that I’m not,” I said. I looked up at him. “Is your wife around? There’s something rather important that I need to discuss with her.”

  “Certainly,” he said. “Though I must warn you, we’ve been busy today with all this cold weather. You may not have her attention for long.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I don’t think it will take me long to tell her what I need to.”

  He guided me over to the kitchen. “Are you going to be all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course,” I said. “It’s nothing to do with me.”

  At least…I certainly hoped it wasn’t.

  I stepped into the kitchen and found Irene with her back to me, wooden spoon in one hand, and a large ceramic bowl in the other, mixing feverishly.

  “Darling, Helen is here to see you,” Nathanial said. “Would you like me to watch the front of the shop for a few moments while she speaks with you?”

  Irene wheeled around, her grey eyes wide. “Helen, hello,” she said. “Yes, of course, Nathanial, thank you.”

  Nathanial nodded and excused himself from the kitchen.

  “How are you doing today?” Irene asked, setting the bowl down on the counter and hurrying over to me, wrapping her arms tightly around me in a hug. “It’s been nearly a week since I’ve seen you. I’ve been worried about you.”

  When she pulled away, I noticed flecks of flour on her cheeks, and the dough clinging to the sleeves of her dress.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve been…well, things at the shop have been busy, and I…I don’t know. I suppose I haven’t been much up for socializing.”

  Irene’s brow furrowed. “Why’s that, dear? What’s troubling you?”

  She picked up the bowl once more and pressed it into my hands. Many hands certainly made for light work. The dough smelled of cinnamon and currants, and my stomach grumbled. Oh, how I wished that all I had to concern myself with was what delicious baked goods Irene made to enjoy.

  “Helen?” Irene asked.

  I looked up, realizing I’d been pondering over the dough in the bowl for longer than necessary.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just…well, I heard some troubling news this morning.”

  She walked over to the stove where she had been glazing a freshly baked batch of scones. “Oh?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. “How so?”

  I settled into a stool before picking up the spoon and beginning to turn the currants over in the bowl. “Well, after speaking with Walter last week, I realized I was back at square one,” I said. “So I decided to do the only thing I could think to do, and that was to go see Sergeant Newton down at the police station.”

  Irene wheeled around, glaze dripping down the spoon in her hand. “The police station? I thought you said you were never setting foot in there again?”

  “I thought that was true,” I said. “But what other choice did I have?”

  Irene pursed her lips, exhaling through her nose. “Well, you could have just sat back and allowed the police to solve this murder. Perhaps they already have.”

  “They haven’t,” I said. “In fact, they’re far from it, I’m afraid.”

  “I take it you spoke with the Sergeant?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No. I tried, but was chased from the station by their witch of a receptionist, as well as someone called Officer Locklier, who I am utterly convinced hates me, though I cannot seem to understand why. I think he was once convinced that Sam and I were together and he thought Sam broke all sorts of rules by allowing me to become involved in his investigations. I suppose Sam said as much, so we were always very discreet. Sam always told me, though, that I was able to find information he couldn’t, purely because I was a civilian, and he had a reputation in the town that always preceded him…” I sighed, setting the bowl back down. “I suppose we were in the wrong, but why did officers like Locklier become as angry as they did? Wasn’t it better if people’s lives were saved? Or if justice was found?”

  “You have no argument from me,” Irene said. “Though I suppose I can see why that might threaten others, especially those in the police station.” She gave me a rather pointed look over her shoulder. “If you didn’t speak to Sergeant Newton, then who did you speak with?”

  “You won’t believe this, but Officer Chamberlin followed me out of the station, and took me to a park down Spruce Street so we could speak.”

  “Did he?” Irene asked. “How very interesting.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said. “And he told me some interesting information. It seems they received the autopsy report for Sam, and what they found was quite troubling.”

  Irene slowly turned with the tray laden with glazed blueberry scones in her hands, her eyes widening. “Troubling? How so?”

  “It seems that Sam was killed by multiple impacts made by a…a piece of glass,” I said, bile rising in the back of my throat.

  Irene froze as she was sliding the tray onto a rack near the door. “Glass?” she asked. “But…why? How?”

  “That’s what they can’t understand,” I said. “Chamberlin seems to think that whoever it was that killed Sam was doing their best to cover the deed up, essentially eliminating the possibility of being discovered.”

  “They believe someone planned this…” Irene said, coming back to the counter and taking the stool beside my own. “Someone knew what they were doing when they killed him.”

  “That’s what Chamberlin suspects,” I said. “He overheard the chief and Sergeant Newton discussing the autopsy, and heard they were worried it could very well be someone in the police station.”

  “One of the officers…” Irene said. “What a terrible thought.”

  “I know…” I said. “Chamberlin wonders if someone might have been vying for Sam’s job. And after seeing the way that Locklier treated me today, I certainly wouldn’t rule out him doing something awful like that.”

  Irene shook her head. “How could they possibly discern who is responsible?”

  “Well, there was one other fear,” I said. “Chamberlin also wondered whether or not it could have been someone in the military.”

  Irene’s brow creased at that. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would someone in the military be after Sam?”

  I opened my mouth, and quickly snapped it shut.

  The whole reason I’d been afraid of the possibility that it was someone in the army was because it might mean the killer believed Sam knew about my involvement with everything that had happened with Roger, and Sidney, and all the rest of it.

  If they somehow suspected that Sam had known what I knew, and then they killed him for it…how could I be sure the same thing wouldn’t happen to Irene and her family?

  I had to tread lightly, and hope that she wouldn’t ask too many questions.

  “Well…Chamberlin wasn’t sure, but it made me wonder if somehow people believed Sam had more to do with Sidney’s death than not,” I said. “Given the fact Sidney was a German spy and all.”

  “That whole ordeal still makes so little sense to me…” Irene said. “Why in the world did he take shelter in our little village? And if he was trying to flee the war, trying to start over, the
n why did his superiors decide to kill him? Did he have secrets they didn’t want known? Not that I am condoning his actions, of course. As a spy, he was lying to us for as long as we knew him…”

  It killed me that Irene didn’t know the truth. She had no idea that I’d been in Sidney’s home the night he’d died, and that he’d attacked me because he thought I somehow had secrets about Roger’s time as a spy…

  “I…” I said.

  “What’s the matter?” Irene asked. “Why are you so pale all of a sudden?”

  My heart began to race, and I wondered whether or not I should just continue to keep my mouth shut. I’d promised I would, didn’t I?

  But I could trust Irene. I know I could. And most of what I would tell her had already passed, already occurred. Would it really matter if she knew why Sidney had died?

  And what if they came after Irene, the same way they’d come after Sam, if that was truly what had happened?

  I chewed the inside of my lip, staring down at the counter.

  “You can tell me, you know…” Irene said. “I hate seeing you so troubled.”

  Irene knew about Roger, of course. Not that he was still alive, but that he’d served in the military and had been high up in the ranks. In truth, even Sam hadn’t known much more.

  Was Roger the connecting link in all this? Was knowledge of him the reason why Sam had been killed?

  And what if it wasn’t the Germans that had killed him, but our own people?

  Suddenly, a terrible chill passed over my body. It paralyzed me all the way to my core…and for a moment, I wasn’t sure I could breathe.

  “Helen?” Irene asked, concern creasing her brows. “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”

  My heart began to pound in my head, and fear surged through my veins.

  If Roger was the one who tied this whole thing together…then how could I be sure –

  How could I be sure that Roger was not the one behind this in the first place?

  Behind Sam’s death, behind Sidney’s ultimate demise…

  What if he was the one doing all this behind the scenes, completely undetected by me?