by H. Y. Hanna
“Dora has been making all sorts of strange mistakes and having accidents in the kitchen,” Mabel said. “Entire cakes have had to be chucked out because they’ve come out tasting horrible or the oven was set to the wrong temperature and they’ve been completely burnt, and one even exploded in the ov—”
“Everyone makes mistakes sometimes,” said Dora quickly. “Especially when they’re trying new recipes. It is to be expected!”
Mabel frowned and pointed at the mess on the table. “This is more than just a small mistake. Look at it!”
“What were you trying to make?” I asked.
“A lemon tea cake,” muttered Dora. “It’s a new recipe I saw. I was simply following the instructions and then everything just burst apart all of a sudden!”
“How long has this been happening, Dora?” I asked gently.
Dora compressed her lips, a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance suffusing her face. She answered reluctantly, “A few weeks. But it’s just been a bad spell, that’s all. Sometimes you get a run of bad luck or are a bit clumsy with things. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Mabel gave me a knowing look and tapped the side of her head. “Brain’s not what it used to be,” she said in a loud whisper.
Dora bristled. “There’s nothing wrong with my brain! And you’re hardly of an age to be commenting on other people’s brain function!”
Mabel drew herself up with superior pride. “My brain is as sharp as it was when I was a twenty-year-old girl. I take great care to keep it active and nimble.”
I hastily interceded. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. But, Dora, I have to agree with Mabel—if things have been going wrong for a while, you shouldn’t just ignore it. Maybe you should see a doctor?”
“I don’t need to see a doctor,” said Dora quickly. “There is nothing the matter with me! Maybe I’ve been a bit distracted lately, that’s all. It’s… it’s probably the changing of the seasons. And maybe I’ve had a touch of the flu.”
“Have you had flu?” I said, furrowing my brow in an effort to remember. I couldn’t recall Dora even having a sniffle in the last few weeks.
“Well, no,” Dora admitted. “But perhaps I had some virus without realising… you know, you can get these things…”
“All the more reason to see a doctor,” I said. “If it’s a case of money, I can—”
“It’s not money,” said Dora stiffly. “I can afford to see a doctor. In any case, consultations at the village GP clinic are free of charge on the NHS.”
“Well, then in that case, I’m going to make an appointment for you with Dr Foster now. And I’m personally going to take you to see him tomorrow afternoon. No arguments,” I said, for once standing firm.
Dora looked as if she would protest, then she gave in grudgingly. “Oh, all right. But I’m sure it’s all a lot of fuss for nothing.”
“And in the meantime, you’re not doing anything else today,” I said. “I don’t care what you say—you’re going to stop now and go home and put your feet up. I can—”
Cassie burst into the kitchen. “Gemma!”
I swung around. What now?
“It’s Liam! He’s been mugged and his camera has been stolen!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I had been hoping to get back early enough that evening to surprise Devlin with a home-cooked meal. Instead, I found myself spending most of the evening, tired and hungry, at the police station, sitting with Cassie and her brother whilst the police questioned Liam and took his statement. He had been jumped on by two hooded thugs just as he was turning the corner into the street where my parents lived. They hadn’t really hurt him and had grabbed his camera and nothing else, but Liam had been so furious that I think the constable taking his statement had to do a lot of judicious censoring of the language used. Things weren’t encouraging though. Liam’s brief description of the “thugs” hadn’t been very useful and I could see from the expression on the constable’s face that they didn’t hold out much hope of catching the thieves or retrieving the camera.
“This sort of thing happens a lot around here, especially with all the tourists wandering around Oxford with their expensive cameras hanging off their shoulders, just waiting to be nicked,” said the constable, rolling his eyes. “Easy target for thieves. People come to England and think it’s not a third world country so it must be safe—oh, it’s pretty safe from violent crime, all right, but you still get petty theft. And anywhere there’s a bunch of tourists, this kind of thing is rampant. The tourists are all jet-lagged and bumbling around in a strange new environment—”
“I’m not some gormless tourist,” said Liam indignantly. “I wasn’t just wandering around like a plonker. I live in Oxford. And those two bastards weren’t random pickpockets, I tell you—they came straight for me!”
“Yes, well, we’ve got the camera serial number and product description and all that, and it will be entered in the stolen items database,” said the constable. “Chances are, they’ll try to sell it online. Canon DSLRs are the most popular, and Nikons too… but your model is quite fancy as well. I’d keep an eye out on the online classified sites, if I were you.”
Still fuming, Liam left the station with Cassie. I asked at the reception and was delighted to find that Devlin was working late and still in the CID offices. It meant that twenty minutes later, instead of cycling back alone, I found myself being driven home in the sleek comfort of his powerful Jaguar XK. As Devlin drove and listened, I told him about what had happened to Liam.
“Don’t you think it’s weird that they took his camera but not his wallet?” I said as I finished the story.
“Not necessarily. His wallet was probably tucked deep into a pocket, whereas a camera is an easier item to snatch and grab. And besides, a teenage boy might not be carrying much money anyway, whereas a fancy camera would be quick cash. You don’t know how many reports of stolen cameras we get all the time—”
“Yes, the constable who was taking Liam’s statement mentioned that. But this wasn’t in one of the tourist spots down in the city centre. This was in a quiet side street in a residential suburb.” I paused, then said, “I don’t think it was just some random petty theft.”
Devlin took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at me. “What do you mean?”
“Liam was coming to meet me, actually. He was planning to give me the SD card from his camera, with the photos he’d taken from the fête. You know, because of that police appeal in the newspapers. I was going to show you the pictures tonight—I thought there might be something in them; apparently Liam had been going around the whole fête, taking pictures of people for his portfolio. I thought he might have caught a picture of your ‘Agri-Crime Boss’—you know, Nate Briggs—without realising it.” I leaned forwards. “I think his camera was stolen on purpose! They didn’t want you—the police—to see the photos!”
Devlin raised his eyebrows. “That’s a bit far-fetched.”
“It all fits!” I insisted. “In fact, Cassie and I were discussing the whole thing in the tearoom this afternoon, in full earshot of everyone there.”
“Who was ‘everyone’?”
I gave a frustrated sigh. “We were busy so I wasn’t paying that much attention. I think there was a group of German tourists by the window and a young American couple next to them… There was another large group at the big table in the centre—from Eastern Europe, I think—I wasn’t quite sure if they were one family… and there was a Japanese couple sitting by the fireplace; I remember because they had the most gorgeous little baby in a stroller—big black eyes and a tuft of black hair, just like a doll… and I think there were a couple of village locals sitting near the counter—Frances Moore and Judith Powell, and old Mr Bernard with his niece who’s visiting Oxford… and… and Edwin Perkins!” I said suddenly.
“Edwin Perkins?”
I nodded eagerly. “Yes, the second-hand bookseller. He’s got a shop in Oxford—and he’d come to Meadowford to value a book col
lection belonging to a friend of the Old Biddies, who’s going into a retirement home—the friend, I mean, not the Old Biddies…” I could see Devlin looking slightly lost. “Anyway, the point is—he was in the tearoom at that time. I remember now because he suddenly rushed off. I was surprised because he’d ordered some tea and sandwiches, but he just got up and left before his order even arrived. He said he had an urgent meeting or something in Oxford which he’d forgotten about, but I remember seeing him talking really urgently on the phone as he was walking away from the tearoom.”
“He could have simply been ringing the person he was having the meeting with, to apologise for being late,” Devlin pointed out. “And according to the description that Liam gave, I doubt either of the thugs who attacked him was Edwin Perkins. They were young men wearing hoodies.”
“Yes, but they could have been hired thugs sent by Edwin,” I said. “That was probably why he was calling someone so urgently as soon as he left the tearoom. He heard me and Cassie talking about the photos and he was hurrying to inform his accomplice and tell them to get hold of the camera before it falls into the hands of the police.”
“Accomplice? Hired thugs?” Devlin gave me an impatient look. “Gemma, you’re making Edwin Perkins sound like some kind of criminal ringleader. He’s just a second-hand bookseller in Oxford. Besides, why would he even care about the pictures falling into the hands of the police?”
“Because… because the photos might show him doing something incriminating!” I said. “I’m sure of it! He must have overheard us talking and panicked. That’s why he left the tearoom so quickly. He had to find a way to intercept Liam and get hold of that camera.”
“Yes, but what incriminating thing would he be worried about, for God’s sake? Selling a second-hand novel for retail price?”
“Evidence of him poisoning Dame Eccleston,” I said promptly.
Devlin groaned. “Not that again, Gemma.”
“Why not? He’s a possible suspect.”
“I thought last time you said the daughter was the suspect?”
“The Old Biddies and my mother think it’s Mary but I don’t agree. I think it’s much more likely to be Edwin—or maybe even Joseph, the creepy college gardener.”
“Who?” Devlin was starting to look confused and irritable now. “Who on earth is Joseph?”
I launched into a rambling account of my meeting with Edwin at the fête, followed by my trip to his bookstore in town, and the Old Biddies’ gossip about Edwin’s humiliation at the hands of Dame Eccleston. Then I told Devlin about my encounter with Joseph in the Ecclestons’ garden and Audrey’s account of the gardener’s anger at the loss of the college flowers.
“So you see, they both had a grudge against Dame Eccleston and they both could be possible suspects,” I finished triumphantly.
“Possible suspects? You’re talking as if there is an ongoing murder investigation when there isn’t one.”
“Well, there ought to be!” I said peevishly. “I think I’ve given you more than enough reason to start one.”
“What you’ve given me is a bunch of wild theories and speculation, based on circumstantial evidence—if we can even call it that.”
“Why won’t you at least consider the possibility that Dame Eccleston could have been murdered?” I burst out in frustration. “It’s like you’re determined not to take me seriously. Lincoln believes me.”
“Lincoln?” said Devlin, his voice cool. “You spoke to him about this?”
“Yes, I rang him today, actually,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. “And he was very interested. And supportive. He told me that it’s possible to fake a heart attack with the use of certain heart medication, such as digitalis. If Dame Eccleston was poisoned with that, then Dr Foster could have made a mistake—especially if he’s not very sharp—and put it down as death due to natural causes. Lincoln thinks the best thing to do would be a post-mortem to double check.”
“I’m not ordering a post-mortem just because Lincoln Green thinks I should,” Devlin growled.
I felt my temper flare in response. “Why do you have to be so stubborn? You’re just doing this on purpose!”
“I’m not doing anything on purpose,” said Devlin through gritted teeth. “I’m simply doing my job—which means not jumping to start murder investigations based on the whims of little old ladies with overactive imaginations and a doctor who should keep his nose in the ICU where it belongs!”
The car pulled up smoothly outside Devlin’s house. He got out and slammed the door. I followed suit and stalked into the house after him. Muesli came running up to greet us, vibrating her tail in greeting, then stopped short as if sensing the hostile atmosphere.
“Meorrw?” she said, tilting her head and looking up at us curiously.
Devlin gave her a quick pat, then stalked into the kitchen. He took a bottle of red wine out of the pantry and opened the cupboard where the glasses were kept.
“Drink?” he asked curtly.
“No thanks,” I said, just as brusque. I realised suddenly that the problem with living together was that when you had a fight, there was nowhere to get away from each other for a while and cool off.
Devlin opened the fridge. “It’s a bit late to start cooking a big meal but there’s some—”
“I’m not very hungry,” I said tightly. “I’m… I’m going upstairs. I think I’ll take a shower, wash off the grime of the day.”
I bent down and scooped Muesli up, then turned and started up the stairs to the mezzanine level.
“By the way, Gemma…” Devlin’s voice made me pause. “The pile of clothes on the chair by your side of the bed—are you planning to do anything with that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well… are they going in the wash?”
“No, they’re not dirty. They’re things I took out this morning which I tried on then decided not to wear. And a couple of things from yesterday too.”
“Well, if they’re not dirty, why don’t you put them back in the drawers or the wardrobe?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know… I just couldn’t be bothered. I’ll sort them out at the end of the week.”
“Why not sort them out now?” said Devlin impatiently.
“Why does it matter?” I said in exasperation. “You’re not using that chair anyway.”
“I just don’t see why you need to have them all out, piled in that mess, when it wouldn’t take you two minutes to put them away.”
“You’re not exactly perfectly neat and tidy either,” I snapped. “You left a whole bunch of CDs on the table beside the TV in the living room.”
“That’s different,” said Devlin quickly. “There are certain CDs that I always listen to and it’s a lot quicker having them out than having to search through the whole collection each time.”
“But it’s the same thing!” I said. “They look really messy strewn all over the side table. It would only take you two minutes to slot them back with the others. You could arrange them together at one end of the shelf, so that you could find them easily when you want.”
“It’s just easier this way,” said Devlin irritably. “I’ve always left them out like that and it’s been fine.” He didn’t actually say “before you moved in with me” but the implication was there.
I paused, stung and hurt. Devlin picked up on it immediately.
“Gemma… I’m sorry, that came out wrong,” he said, coming quickly to the foot of the stairs and looking up at me. “You know I love having you and Muesli here. This is your home now, as much as mine.”
I looked away, not meeting his eyes.
“Meorrw…” said Muesli forlornly, looking from one of us to the other.
Devlin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I think we’re both tired and a bit short-tempered tonight. Why don’t we take a time-out and start again? You go and have a shower and when you’re done, we’ll have something to eat. Maybe watch a bit of TV, then have an early night…”
He gave me a crooked smile. “What do you say?”
I felt slightly mollified. “Okay,” I said at last, dredging up a stiff smile in return.
“Meorrw!” said Muesli approvingly, then she wriggled out of my grasp and dropped down, scampering back down the stairs to join Devlin.
I scowled at her. Traitor.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Things were still decidedly cool between me and Devlin the next morning as we both got ready for work. It reminded me of when we were students and had a fight—we were always both more than capable of holding stubbornly to our end of the argument. It’s one of those hard truths in life, isn’t it, when you realise that just because you love someone doesn’t mean you’ll always agree and get along? I knew it was probably just silly pride, but I felt like I had to stand my ground. I suppose Devlin felt the same. Still, he hesitated as he was about to leave the house and turned back to me.
“Um… I might be late again tonight,” he said.
“That’s okay.”
“If you want to have dinner yourself first—”
“Actually, I think I might have dinner with my parents,” I said. “Since I didn’t manage to go yesterday, with what happened to Liam and having to go down to the police station, I thought I might pop in tonight.”
“Yes, good idea,” said Devlin, perhaps a shade too quickly. Maybe he was thinking, like me, that a bit more time apart would help to heal the breach. Didn’t they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder?
He hesitated again, then leaned suddenly towards me and kissed me on the lips. I softened and slid my arms around his neck, kissing him back.
“Maybe we can watch a movie together when I get back,” Devlin suggested with a smile when he raised his head at last.
I smiled back. “Sounds good.”
When he had gone, I went up to the bedroom and, feeling more charitable now, I tackled the pile of clothes on the chair by the bed, folding them and putting them back in the chest of drawers or hanging them back in the wardrobe. Then I checked Muesli’s food and water and got ready to leave.
