by Ruby Loren
I gave my head a perfunctory nod, knowing it was expected of me. Walter Miller had, to my knowledge, lived in Merryfield for more than thirty years, but because he hadn’t been born here, he was forever branded an outsider - an excuse that was wheeled out whenever a person did something that a ‘true villager’ disagreed with.
Freya seemed to be dithering on the spot, as if there was something stuck on the tip of her tongue. I waited for her to spit it out.
“I’m organising Jim’s funeral. He didn’t have any family that close to him, you know.” She shot me a look over her glasses that I assumed was in reference to the odious granddaughter. “I know that you grow flowers, and this is a bit of a strange request, but I was wondering if you might be able to put together some displays featuring Jim’s vegetables? Some flowers, too, would be lovely. I know that there’s a reasonable budget for it in the funeral expenses…” She quoted me a fee.
I thought for a moment about the labour involved, the cost of growing the flowers, and about a final opportunity to do something nice for a man I’d liked. I halved the number she’d suggested.
“That’s wonderful. You’re so kind, Diana, and I know it will look fabulous. I always admire your flowers at the farmers’ market,” Freya said, practically gushing. It was enough to make me wonder who’d already turned the strange proposition down. I wasn’t exactly ‘in’ with the church crowd anymore, but when I imagined the ladies who’d been in charge of doing the church flowers back when I’d been a child getting asked to include vegetables in their funeral arrangements, I couldn’t conceive that they’d taken kindly to the suggestion.
“Good luck with the murder investigation! We at the club think you’re just great. You can analyse anything! It’s just like those scientists on TV who look at bodies and work out how they died. You’ve got more smarts in your little finger than Walter Miller has in his whole brain,” she informed me, before pottering off towards the church.
I was left with mixed feelings about the Merryfield Murder Mystery Fans’ opinion of me. I wasn’t quite sure why they believed I was a forensic pathologist, but I also wasn’t sure that I wanted to disappoint them by not pursuing my investigation. In a village as small as Merryfield, you had to be very careful who you annoyed. The consequences could stick around for decades.
Or they could even be fatal, I silently added, thinking of Jim Holmes.
3
Catching a Killer
An unexpectedly large and urgent private job at work meant that I had to stay away from the allotments for a few days. When I returned, I was pleased to see that my autumn blooms were still looking perky. The watering can left in an unfamiliar spot hinted that my flowers may have had a helping hand from Deirdre. I made a mental note to thank her later.
The same could not be said for Jim’s plot. I went over with a mind to work out which vegetables could be used for the funeral displays, only to find that more sabotage had taken place. This time, it was Jim’s prize marrow that had borne the brunt of the frenzied attacker’s attentions. Chunks of it were strewn across the allotment and the marrow itself showed strange semi-circular marks where its flesh still remained. As I bent down to inspect the damage, I nearly toppled into a hole. After a tense couple of seconds spent gripping a very tough pumpkin plant, I was able to regain my balance with only a few prickly fingers to show for it. This hole was nowhere near the size of the one that Jim had fallen into, but it was still significant. More interesting than its size was the fact that it was new. When I’d last visited the allotment, Jim’s pumpkin patch, with the exception of the dead leaves on one plant, had looked healthy and well-cared for. Now the big orange globes were covered with a light shower of earth. More of the plants had begun to die, I noted, but that wasn't surprising considering the weedkiller tainted soil sample I’d analysed.
I looked into the hole. Roots were visible poking through one of the walls, but beyond that, there was nothing of interest at the bottom. Perhaps the hole digger had found whatever it was they were looking for. I hesitated for a moment and entertained the possibility that someone might be hunting for something concealed beneath Jim’s allotment. Buried treasure? I thought, heavily doubting it was something so interesting. However, Jim’s granddaughter had been very interested in finding out what Jim owned. Could she be the one who was digging the holes, looking for some lost inheritance?
I shook my head, dismissing the idea as nonsensical. Nina had only arrived in the village after Jim’s death, and I certainly couldn’t see her with a spade in hand, digging holes. Someone else could have discovered that Jim had buried something, I reasoned. Jim had enjoyed a pint or several at the local pub on a regular basis and was quite well-known for being a talkative drunk. It had definitely been a contributing factor in why he'd fallen out with half of the village during his lifetime. Perhaps he’d got loose-lipped about some secrets of his own.
I sat back on my haunches and looked at the marrow again. Then I looked at it a little more closely. Finally, I picked the darned thing up and popped it into a shopping bag full of plant cutting tools I’d brought with me. Anyone watching would probably think I was crazy, but I wasn't taking the monster marrow home for dinner. I inspected the ground around the hole and silently lamented the way the rough soil of the allotment meant that nothing as helpful as footprints would ever show up. I did, however, find one piece of evidence that stopped my treasure-hunting flight of fancy in its tracks.
I picked out one of my seed collecting bags and dropped the item inside. I would need the evidence I hoped to find on the marrow to confirm its presence as anything more than circumstantial, but I thought I might finally be on the right track to finding Jim Holmes’ killer.
After earmarking flowers and the surviving vegetables for tomorrow’s funeral, I drove into Kingston Hill, the nearest large town, and purchased a few items. Then, I returned to the allotments - empty as the evening drew in - and I set a trap to catch the killer.
The sky was lightening and the birds were singing the next morning when I woke up in my little apartment. I checked the time and noted that I’d woken exactly when I’d planned to rise - which was impressive, given how late I’d worked last night when I’d returned to the lab after hours. I’d booked the day off from work on sympathetic grounds. My boss had looked pained when he’d had to grant me the permission right in the middle of such a large workload, but I couldn’t say I was particularly sorry. I’d realised that I was giving everything to the lab, and all I got in return was money. Was money worth exchanging life for? My views were definitely changing regarding the answer to that question.
I was admiring the peace and quiet and looking forward to my day off (in spite of the reason behind it) when all of a sudden, there wasn’t much peace and quiet left to be enjoyed. Someone was shouting loudly and it was coming from the direction of the allotments. I quickened my stride to a jog, remembering my trap and fearing that it had gone terribly wrong.
When I hurdled the still-padlocked gate (I told you it was pointless) I was met with a surprising scene. Nina, Jim’s granddaughter, had her face and upper body pressed against the side of Jim’s shed. She was in the process of being handcuffed by Walter Miller whilst his underling, Daniel Herald, looked on.
I stepped on a loose pebble as I walked down the path to find out what the heck was going on. All three turned to stare at me. Walter looked as annoyed as ever to see me. Daniel looked strangely guilty, but most worryingly of all, there was a smugness in Nina’s expression - in spite of her obvious arrest.
“What’s going on?” I asked, but even as the words left my mouth, I saw it.
Nina had destroyed my allotment.
The flowers I had spent months nurturing were strewn around and stomped on. Entire plants had been torn up by their roots and destruction was visible everywhere. Put simply - there was nothing left.
“Why?” I asked, when I finally managed to bring myself to speak.
“Because you’re an interfering know-it-
all and you took what was rightfully mine.” Nina said it with such venom I was thrown clean out of my dismay for a moment.
“I haven’t done anything to you!”
“All right, that’s enough! Move it along,” Detective Miller said, giving Nina an enthusiastic push in the direction of the exit. “Darned outsiders…” I heard him mutter under his breath when he pushed past me.
I stepped in front of Daniel before he could slink after his boss. “How did you catch her?”
The police officer looked embarrassed. “I, uh, after everything you said, Detective Miller thought we should check up on… the allotments. Just to make sure we didn’t miss anything.” He avoided making eye contact all through his little speech.
“Right,” I said, immediately realising that the police had been checking up on me. I stepped to the side and allowed him to pass. He rushed after his superior without a backward glance. I thought about the padlock on the gate and how the officers would probably struggle to navigate it with a handcuffed criminal.
I left them to figure it out.
I looked around at the complete and utter destruction that Nina had wreaked on everything I’d worked so hard to achieve. The naysaying voice in my head whispered that it was some kind of sign that I should quit and stick with my day job. After all - what else did I have left? Even the evergreens I’d been bringing on in the hopes of selling to local florists had been trampled. There would be no winter plant sales now and no chance that my ‘paid hobby’ was going to magically transform into enough money to support myself. I felt like throwing in the towel and resigning myself to a life of the daily grind.
“You can’t. The funeral is today,” I told myself out loud and felt a mild rush of panic take hold. I was supposed to be doing the flowers and vegetable display! At least Nina hadn’t touched her grandfather’s plot, so the vegetable part would be okay. I looked around, hoping to find something salvageable. There were a few chocolate cosmos, a stem of monkshood or two, and some only slightly damaged eucalyptus stems. I collected everything together as best as I could and placed them in my pitchers of water. It was a good deal less than I’d been expecting to bring to the funeral, and there was no hope of my entering the Harvest Festival flower competition now, but it was all I could do. I said a silent apology to Jim for the less than my best flower choices. Then I got to work picking out the nicest vegetables.
I gathered everything together before I hightailed it out of the allotments. In my foul mood, I completely forgot about the trap I’d set at the edge of the allotments the previous evening.
“The darkest hour is always before dawn,” I muttered, before wondering if anyone had ever taken any actual comfort from old sayings. I hadn’t realised how much hope I’d put into my flower-growing business until I’d lost it all. The bright morning seemed as bleak as mid-winter to me now.
I shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss that particular saying.
I was rushing by the time I arrived at the church. I’d allowed myself what I’d thought would be plenty of time to gather flowers and vegetables and then display them as per the weekend course I’d been on to learn flower arranging. Unfortunately, the strange arrest and then my subsequent searching for anything that was decent enough to be salvaged after Nina’s wanton destruction had taken a lot longer than I’d realised. The only good thing about it was I was too busy to dwell on my hopes and dreams going up in smoke.
I only made it out of the church door as the vicar and Freya arrived to do their preparation for the funeral. Freya called my name but I merely turned and waved to her, in too much of a rush to do anything else.
“Drat!” I said, finally remembering the trap I’d set. I hesitated for a moment, torn between a need to be punctual and my promise to Jim that I’d catch his killer. I decided that Jim wouldn’t be fussed if I were a bit late for his funeral.
I spun on my heel and walked back to the allotments.
Even though most of the other allotment owners and leasers were retired, I was unsurprised to see that no one else had entered the allotments since I’d locked the gate behind me on my way out. Everyone in the village would be attending Jim Holmes’ funeral - some of them just to make sure he was really dead - and they would all be spending the morning getting ready, so that they could set tongues wagging about those few extra pounds they’d lost or gained.
I shook my head, silently accepting the fact that my own appearance would probably be under scrutiny. I doubted I’d have time to make myself look fantastically presentable. I wasn’t a heavy makeup girl at the best of times and the late night/early morning combo would have definitely done some damage. I wasn’t in my early twenties anymore.
I looked around, checking for any further hole digging that I might have missed earlier when I’d been focusing on vegetables. Nothing had touched Jim’s allotment. I didn’t know if that was good or bad news.
I walked down the winding path that led to the line of trees at the edge of the allotments, which backed onto some woods. Communal compost heaps had been set up, and there was also a bonfire spot for those who burnt their garden waste. It was close to here that I had laid my newly purchased trap.
I walked carefully across the autumn leaf litter, being as quiet as I could. For some reason, my heart was in my mouth. Had I done it? Had I caught the murderer?
I peeked around the edge of the holly bush at the metal cage.
Two amber and brown eyes looked warily back at me.
“I thought those holes were too big to be a fox,” I told the animal in the trap. I was definitely glad I’d purchased the largest one I’d been able to find at the specialist store.
I crouched down and looked at the shaggy carpet with eyes. I was pretty certain that it was, in fact, a dog, but it looked more like a hairy monster. It was obvious to me from its condition that it had been on its own for a long time, and I was also pretty sure that underneath all of the hair, I would discover that this was a skinny animal.
“Hope you enjoyed the steak,” I told the dog, speaking quietly to it. That had been what I’d used to bait my trap. It was the strange semi-circular marks on the marrow that had given the game away. I’d stayed up the night before confirming my hypothesis by analysing the remains of the vegetable. I’d confirmed that there were digestive enzymes present on the marrow, which told me that something had bitten it. I’d known then for sure, considering the bite radius, that I was looking for an animal, not a person. The claw I’d picked up from the soil added to my certainty. My mind had initially gone to an old fox, who couldn’t get enough food for himself anymore, but this made much more sense.
I took a couple of careful steps closer. The dog pressed itself against the back of the cage. We both looked at one another warily for a few moments. Then, with not much clue as to why I did it, I extended a hand towards the trap. The dog watched and stayed where it was. But then, just as I was about to quit whatever the heck I was doing, it took a tentative shuffle forwards. A black shiny nose extended towards my outstretched fingers, getting closer to the cage bars. Somewhere behind the hairy monster, something moved back and forth, which I could only assume meant it was wagging its tail.
“What am I going to do with you?” I mused, feeling out of my depth. I’d felt so clever setting up my little trap, but I hadn’t put any thought into what might be the consequences of my actions.
The dog and I regarded each other for another moment before I made a decision and ran back across the allotments. I grabbed some thick, garden twine (more like rope, if truth be told) and then I broke into Deirdre’s shed, using the spare key she’d given me for when she went on her cruises. I stole the pack of shortbread biscuits I knew she kept in the tin on the top shelf, making silent promises to replace them.
Then, I returned to the woods. The dog was still there, looking out at me with a hopeful look in its eyes. The moment it saw I had food, the tail wagging started up again. I bit my lip, wondering if what I had planned would work, or if the dog would hig
htail it out of here the moment I opened the trap. I shrugged the thought away. This animal was hungry. There was surely no way he’d ignore the chance to eat. I looked at those amber eyes once more, wondering if he was very wild. Would I be attacked? I didn’t think so. Although he’d been living rough for a while, I didn’t think there was a mean bone in his body. I mentally downgraded my thoughts of murder to accidental manslaughter. What’s more, I wasn’t entirely convinced that Jim wasn’t partially to blame for what had happened to him…
I took a deep breath and sprung the lock mechanism, opening the door. I liberally sprinkled the biscuits around and, as I’d hoped, the hairy dog gobbled them up. It seemed very unfazed when I slipped the rope noose around its neck. I waited for the dog to finish the biscuits. Would it choose to run now?
The dog turned to me with hopeful eyes, its expression clear. Have you got any more of those? I shot it a disapproving look. “They’re bad for you, you know. Why don’t we get you some proper food?”
There was tail wagging at the back again when I mentioned the word ‘food’. Acting on an impulse, I bent and extended my hand again. The dog approached, this time sniffing me and then giving my hand a tentative lick. For one strange moment, I was transported back to my childhood and the little terrier we’d had before things had gone so wrong between my mother and father. I was sure that this big hairball was a different kettle of fish, as far as breeds went, but I hadn’t realised, until now, how much I’d missed having a pet.
I shook the crazy thought from my head. I was renting an apartment. My landlord was a lovely woman, but I couldn’t see her letting me keep a dog.
“We’ll work something out,” I told the big dog, straightening up and giving the rope a gentle tug. The dog followed after me like a little lamb. It was probably the politest killer to ever exist.
“Oh, heck! The funeral!” I said, the moment we were out of the woods. I gave the rope another tug and the dog seemed more than happy to trot along as I jogged through the lanes that led back to my apartment. Luckily, I was so late, there was no one around to witness me bringing the big, black hairball into the nice, respectable cottage that had been divided into apartments.
