by Agatha Frost
They hurried across the back garden to the bushes away from the knocking and beyond the small apple orchard. There wasn’t a gate, so Katie held the bushes apart as much she could for Leah to squeeze through. Leah did the same for Katie on the other side, even though she didn’t have to.
“Everything will work out,” Katie said, almost believing it herself for a second. “Usual appointment next week?”
“How about I call you?” Leah was already walking away. “Busy week ahead.”
She hadn’t missed a week all year.
“Yeah, me too.”
Under a bleeding orange sunset, Katie left her cottage and headed into the countryside. She was tired after an unexpectedly busy day at the café; she’d been glad of Julia’s help when she showed up at the height of the rush. Early on in running the café, Katie had learned to stack her nail appointments earlier in the week when the café shifts were slower. She’d almost cancelled Leah’s appointment. As with the garden party, she wished she’d followed her gut.
Was that what she was doing now? Following her gut? She wasn’t sure. She was sure that it wasn’t a Plan B, or even a Plan D. It was a last resort. Something she’d kept in the back of her mind if things got desperate.
Were the five men still knocking on her front door?
There might even be more now.
Things were well past desperate.
Katie’s father always said Wellingtons could always find Wellington Manor like homing pigeons, and that’s how she felt as she walked through the woods, jumping over creeks and climbing over walls until she came to the stone wall that marked the outer border of the manor’s estate.
Even when within the bounds of the property, it took another ten minutes of walking before the dark shadow of the manor’s rear came into view. Without a single light, the manor looked as empty and cold as it always left her feeling when she went there, especially alone. She hadn’t wanted to invite him to her cottage.
Tonight, she was giving in to her Wellington side, and there was no better place for it than the manor.
She’d never used the Wellington little black book before, but she’d met enough of the men (and they were all men) in her father’s book of contacts to know who to call first. She’d call them all if she had to, hoping one of them could save her like they had her father so many times.
The police had left the house in the state it had been in after the party, and Katie hadn’t been in the mood to come and clean it. She still wasn’t, but it felt like the right thing to do. By the time a firm knock sounded at the door, she’d cleared away the chairs and mess from the entrance hall and kitchen.
“Jarvis!” Katie beamed as she opened the door. “My, don’t you look well?”
A total lie. In the decade or so since she’d seen Jarvis, he’d gained a hump, a potbelly, a cane, and a head of white hair. Still, he threw his arms open and brought her in for one of his hugs.
Still a little too tight.
Still lasting a little too long.
“When my nurse said I’d a message from Katie Wellington asking me to meet here, I couldn’t refuse!” He released her, and, leaning on his cane, took her in from head to toe. “How’ve you been, princess?”
“I’ve been better, Jarvis.”
“Uncle Jarvis, remember.” He winked before shuffling into the entrance hall. “This old place looks the same. Emptier than I remember, but still magnificent. Tell me the rumour that it’s up for sale isn’t true.”
“I’m afraid it is, Jar – Uncle Jarvis.” Katie gulped. “Don’t suppose you want to buy it?”
“Maybe if you’d asked twenty years ago.” He uttered a deep, raspy chuckle. “I made your father dozens of offers, you know. Always turned me down, but maybe he should have taken me up on it, eh?”
Katie wasn’t sure that was true. Jarvis, who wasn’t her uncle by any stretch, was as loose with his tongue as he was his wallet. Her father once remarked that one could never believe anything Jarvis said unless he was remarking on the depth of his pockets. When one was in trouble, one called Jarvis.
“Listen, I asked you here today to talk money,” she said, looking at the floor. “I’m not proud of it, but—”
“Must we rush straight to business?” He winked again, pivoting towards the kitchen. “Any wine, or maybe a nice malt? Your father always had the best stuff. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral, by the way. I was on a yacht on the French Riviera, and there was too much there to pull myself away from, if you know what I’m saying?”
Even without the wink, Katie knew exactly what he was saying and wished she didn’t. He might have been a hunched, crinkled version of the man she remembered, but his wandering eye hadn’t changed.
“I’ll level with you, Jarvis,” she said, following him into the kitchen as he checked the empty cupboards. “I’m in a bit of a sticky situation, and I need money.”
“What type of sticky situation?”
“Bailiffs at the door type of sticky,” she admitted quietly. “Look, this place was on the verge of selling just when we needed it to, but it fell through, and people aren’t lining up to buy. I just need some money to keep the debt at bay.”
“How much exactly?”
“Fifty grand?”
The figure didn’t make him jump like it would most men. It was barely pocket change, and unless he’d moved, Jarvis lived in a house twice as extravagant as Wellington Manor had been even at its peak.
“There’ll be interest,” he replied.
Katie nodded, knowing better than to ask how much. From overhearing her father’s conversations, she knew men like Jarvis made up their interest rates depending on how long you took to pay them back.
“You have no idea how much that will help us—”
“Why don’t we cut the act?” Another wink. “Let’s take this upstairs.”
“Jarvis!”
“Uncle Jarvis, princess.”
“You’re absolutely not my uncle and I’m absolutely not going upstairs with you!” She stepped back. “And I’m not your princess, either. I’m married, with a child.”
“And you’ve kept your cracking figure.”
“Stop winking at me.”
“What’s with all the mixed messages?” He limped back into the entrance hall. “Why go to all the trouble of lighting candles if you’re playing hot and cold?”
“What candles?”
He pointed his cane at the front door, sending Katie outside. Someone had placed white pillar candles on the doorstep, and tealights lit a path to the top of the driveway. She stepped fully outside and spotted more candles flickering in one of the old spare rooms.
“I didn’t do that, and they most certainly weren’t for you,” Katie said as she walked back inside. “And my eyes are in my face, Jarvis.”
Katie marched up the staircase and across the landing to the door she knew belonged to one of the front bedrooms. She pressed an ear to the wood but heard only soft music. Quiet enough not to filter downstairs, loud enough to drown out her conversation with Jarvis.
Unsure what she should do, Katie settled on knocking.
“Come in,” a voice called.
Katie opened the door to see Ed lying on his side atop a blanket wearing nothing more than tight y-fronts the same colour as his goatee. He immediately scrambled for his clothes.
“What are you doing here?” Katie demanded, closing her eyes as Ed hustled into his clothing. “Actually, just go.”
“Oh, God,” he muttered as a belt rustled. “I’m so sorry. I thought it would be empty. I thought you were someone else.”
“How did you even get in?”
“All the doors were unlocked.”
Of course they were. Katie had the keys, and she hadn’t been back since the police left. She’d been in such a rush to get inside after her walk, she hadn’t noticed she’d simply pushed open the kitchen’s unlocked French doors.
Ed zoomed past her and down the stairs, leaving Katie to blow out the
candles dotted around the room. Through the window, she watched him sprint down the gravel driveway.
Who had he expected at the door?
Not that it mattered now.
Whoever it was, hopefully, they’d just received a phone call telling them not to bother. Katie wasn’t going to stick around to check.
“Had another man here before me, eh?” Again, he winked. It turned her stomach. “Why don’t we—”
“Why don’t you leave,” she insisted, giving him a slight push in the direction of the door. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. I shouldn’t have called. Goodbye, Jarvis.”
Katie closed and locked the door behind him and didn’t move until she heard the crunch of wheels as his driver reversed away from the house. She pulled the black book out of her back pocket and flicked through the pages.
She’d been a Wellington tonight, alright.
Page by page, she tore the book to pieces until all that remained was a pile of paper on the floor and a leather shell in her hand.
First came the panic.
Then, the relief.
She left the manor in no better situation than when she’d arrived. The bailiffs would still be on their heels until the manor sold and she and Brian came up with thousands of pounds. She was supposed to be past this part now.
Still, she was in oddly better spirits than when she’d arrived. Instead of returning to the lonely cottage, she went to Brian’s antique barn and walked straight into the arms of the only man who’d ever made her feel safe.
While Vinnie slept curled up under a blanket on one of the antique sofas in the corner of the dark shop, Katie told her husband about her evening. She included the surprise of finding Ed but left out of all Jarvis’s winking. Brian was no spring chicken himself, but she wasn’t about to set him on a lonely, hunched old man.
“You didn’t have to do that on your own,” he said, stroking her hair. “You know James has been released. It looks like they’re not going to charge him. It could be business as usual this time next week, babe.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“It would be nice to get in touch with him to ask, mind you.” Brian huffed. “He’s been ignoring my phone calls. I’ve heard he’s gone into hiding and no one knows where he is. Do you think Barker knows?”
“I know,” she said, scooping Vinnie into her arms. “He’s lying low in Jessie’s flat.”
Or, that’s what he was meant to be doing.
After walking around to the corner to the post office, Katie held Vinnie against her chest, fast asleep, while she and Brian hung back next to a police car. Blue lights lit up the village green. A small crowd had gathered in front of the post office, but most people were officials.
“Someone’s tried to do James in with a hammer!” Dot announced, rushing across the green in her nightie, her hair up in rollers under a headscarf. “They’ve just dashed him off to the hospital, but it’s not looking good.”
And just when Katie thought it was impossible, things got so much worse.
11
Once again, Julia awoke before her alarm the next morning, though this time it was to the phone ringing in the kitchen. Barker groaned next to her, but she tossed back the covers before he could get up.
Only one person would call so early.
“Don’t start any breakfast!” Dot cried down the line. “The three of you must pack up and get down to my place. Don’t even bother getting dressed.”
“I think I’ll bother getting dressed.” She looked down at her pyjamas, short and lightweight for the summer months. “What’s the emergency?”
“Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Oh, typical!” Dot tutted. “The one time I think, ‘No, Dorothy, don’t be the one to call. Let someone else be the bearer of bad news for once, lest they call you a gossip,’ you’re to tell me that nobody called you?”
“To be honest, Gran, you’re usually the only one who calls with . . . bad news.” She refrained from saying gossip. “In fact, you’re the only one who still calls on the house phone.”
“Force of habit.” Julia could feel her gran’s brooch fiddling over the phone. “This isn’t any old gossip, Julia. Brace yourself.”
Julia yawned.
“Braced.”
“It’s James Jacobson,” Dot said grimly. “Someone with a hammer tried to crack his head in two like a walnut last night.” She paused, and when Julia didn’t speak, added, “Brains on the carpet, I heard. It’s not looking good.”
Barker was harder to rouse than Olivia, but after frantically collecting everything they’d need for the morning, they scrambled into the car and down to the village. They arrived at the same time as Evelyn, in a nightie that looked an awful lot like her usual kaftans, and Amy, dressed business as usual in pink and blue.
“It’s not good,” Amy announced, glancing over to the post office flat as Julia unstrapped Olivia from her car seat. “I heard it was touch and go all night.”
Once in the cottage, they found Shilpa and Neil already waiting at the dining table, along with a breakfast spread to put a hotel to shame. There was bacon; buttered bread; and white and brown toast, with raspberry and strawberry jam, not to mention marmalade and lemon curd. Two pots of tea and a cafetiere of coffee, along with cups, sugar, and milk stood ready for a necessary caffeine infusion.
Nobody could accuse Dot of not putting in the effort.
“We should do breakfast more often,” Amy said, helping herself to both kinds of toast and a pot of marmalade. “Under much better circumstances, hopefully. Are we waiting for Johnny?”
“He said he wasn’t getting out of bed this early on his day off,” said Dot as she took the head of the table, already fully dressed for the day; Percy still wore his blue and white nightclothes. “Barker, you want to take this one?”
Though Julia hadn’t heard about what happened to James, Barker clearly had. Judging by the notes he quickly threw up on the chalkboard, he’d been awake until the early hours going over his ideas.
At least it explained why he’d been so difficult to drag out of bed.
“So, after going around in circles, I realised most of my ideas led back to one basic theory.” Barker finished his arial sketch of the back of Wellington Manor and stepped aside. “Here, we have Mindy and Richie in the middle of the garden, walking in this direction to the house.” He circled two Xs and drew an arrow in the direction of the manor. “But from a distance, someone could have mistaken Mindy and Richie for Mindy and James.”
“Sue thought it was James out there,” said Neil.
“I’m glad someone has said it,” Amy said, scandalised. “I’ve been getting them mixed up the whole time. Every time I saw Richie while James was in prison, I thought he’d escaped!”
“Especially after they got those matching haircuts,” Julia added. “And in the rain, no less.”
“Which is why from here” – he circled another X a few metres into the woods – “where, going off the police report, we know the shooter was standing, it’s not ridiculous to assume the bullet that barely missed Richie wasn’t intended for Mindy at all. Nor was the second. They were running, it was raining, and so Mindy took the bullet intended for James – via the mistaken identity of their son.”
“So, why do it in the rain?” Dot asked. “Surely it would have been better to wait.”
“Chaos is good cover.” Barker put down the chalk and stepped away from his diagram. “So is confusion. There are too many people at a garden party to narrow down suspects quickly when no one claims to have seen anything. It’s only a theory, but I can think of more reasons people would want to kill James than Mindy. Last night could have been an attempt to put right what went wrong at the party.”
“A sloppy attempt,” Percy pointed out, wiping jam from his chin.
“They got close,” said Dot. “And they might still get their wish. James could be taking his dying breath as we speak.”
“I still don’t
really know what happened last night,” Julia said, spooning the first bite of breakfast into Olivia’s waiting mouth now that it had cooled down.
“Me neither,” Neil added. “I was at the station. They only let me go after James was attacked.”
“Shilpa?” Dot asked. “Do you know anything?”
Though she’d been eating like everyone else, Shilpa had been silent during the meeting. Julia had been surprised to see her at all, considering the library had yet to come up, but she was glad she was.
“I was already at home.” Shilpa adjusted her teacup on its saucer. “The police said it looks like James was alone, sitting at the table, and someone hit him over the head from behind. Whoever it was left the door open.”
“Dog walkers found him,” Dot said, somewhat jealously; it wasn’t a stretch to imagine she wished she’d been the dog walker in question. “They heard the TV playing and spotted the bloody hammer in the alley.”
“They left it behind?”
“Probably wearing gloves.” Percy gave a knowing nod. “Same with the gun, I imagine, or we’d have heard about different fingerprints other than James’s.”
“Seems careless to me,” Julia said.
“Maybe they think they’re getting away with it?” Barker suggested. “So far, they have.”
She’d let her theory that James could be bluffing simmer for most of the evening before having a bath and an early night. Unless he’d somehow hit himself and then thrown the hammer downstairs, she was happy to let that idea go.
“If we assume James was the intended victim,” Julia said, accepting the chalk from Barker and letting him take over feeding Olivia, “we need new motives for our suspects.”
“Are we sticking to the three at the B&B, then?” Evelyn asked. “Because it might be worth pointing out that Ed didn’t come home last night.”
