Parcels of Doom (Chapel End Mysteries, #1)

by Lown, Anne

  Cowering more than ever, Emma said, “You touch me, and I’ll tell the police, give them the diary, too. Carmie knows you’re in here, so I have a witness it’s you.”

  Raising his fists, he bashed at his own head. The harder he pounded, the quicker relief came. His old habit of hurting himself still had the power to release his anger. Soon his forehead was undoubtedly red and bruised, the pain soothing his frustration. Jason unclenched his teeth.

  Looking up, he saw Emma anew. He pitied her, her sad life, with her waiting for him to return for a second chance at something she was never going to get in the first place. He wouldn’t date her, not even if she were the last woman alive. “I don’t believe a word you say. Go on, give it to the police.”

  Emma gasped. “You don’t mean that. Don’t think I wouldn’t. I could take it straight over there right now.”

  “So do it already. What’re you waiting for? You should’ve handed it in anyway. I’ve got nothing to hide, so do what the hell you like.” Jason gave her one last despising glance before turning away and throwing open the office door.

  “You’ll regret this. I will do it!”

  The desperation in Emma’s voice followed him as he strode through the shop. He couldn’t even be bothered to trash the place. Every display was left standing as it had been when he’d entered. It seemed like he’d grown up after all.

  Chapter Six

  Jenny entered the charity shop with the post and cringed on the inside for what was coming next. She glimpsed the closed office door at the back of the room, knowing who was in there. She was sure Emma could hear the daily exchange between Carmie and herself—the woman was like a broken record.

  “Someone’s going to get hurt.”

  She approached the counter, shaking her head. “You can’t know that.”

  “Yes, I can, I’ve seen it before.”

  “Look, Carmie, someone sent that diary to upset people, that’s all.”

  Carmie folded her arms and leant back on one foot. She pursed her lips like a pouting child. The woman loved to gossip, every day imparting new information about village life. It had Jenny’s head swimming. She’d changed her duty to deliveries to get away from the drama. It hadn’t worked.

  “When things happen in my country it’s the spirits. I should know. We built our house on the spirit land, and that made them angry. We didn’t have their permission to build there, and they repaid us. My sister broke her bones three times.”

  Jenny cocked her head, raising her eyebrows. “Okay, what’re these spirits called, and how do you know they’re there?”

  “They’re the Dwende.”

  Jenny snorted. “What’s a Dwende?”

  “A dwarf spirit.” Carmie’s eyes widened as she spoke, her chin jutting forward, and she emphasised her words. “There are white ones that are good and black ones that are bad. They live among the people, but you can’t see them.”

  “Okay.”

  Carmie carried on, pushing her chin higher. “Only the Albulario, the quack doctor, can see them. The quacks treat you if someone puts a spell on you. They’re the kind ones, not like the Mangkukulan, the witch doctor—they’re evil. They use voodoo dolls and prayers to curse people.”

  Jenny was intrigued; the woman was sincere in her belief. “So how did you sort it out? Are they still there?”

  “The quack doctor used incense, and the priest prayed in the house. They said the spirits liked my sister.”

  “What happens when they don’t like somebody?”

  With wide eyes, Carmie said, “They didn’t like my brother-in-law. He had nightmares about little people tying him up and he couldn’t move when he woke up.”

  “Wow, that’s scary.” Jenny shuddered. “So what happened after they cleansed the house?”

  “My sister, she broke no more bones.”

  Following her train of thought, Jenny asked, “So you think the diary’s bad and someone’s going to get hurt. How will we know before it happens?”

  “We’ll know. There’ll be a sign, a warning.”

  Movement outside the shop had Jenny turning her head. Adam opened the back of the van to drop in his empty mailbag. She said a quick goodbye, left the shop, and scurried across the street. He didn’t like to be kept waiting, not when they were nearing the end of the delivery. They drove on to the next park-and-loop point. She got out, collected her last mailbag, and set off at a stride.

  A familiar voice caught her attention. “Hey, you, I thought you’d been avoiding me.”

  Jenny looked up from the bundle of letters in her hand. Jason walked towards her. A tentative smile played on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He hunched his shoulders against the bitter wind, his hands thrust deep into his jacket pockets. To anyone else, he’d seem cold, but Jenny knew it was something more.

  “Hi, Jason. What brings you here to the ghetto of the village?” She kept her tone light and winked, hoping he’d get the joke.

  “I live over there.” He inclined his head in the direction he meant. The house in question was an end-of-terrace and appeared as shabby as the others alongside. His uncle had let it decline in his old age.

  Jenny’s face grew hot. She ducked her head to hide behind her hair, the bitter wind doing nothing to cool her embarrassment.

  Either he hadn’t noticed, or he was ignoring the fact she’d just put her foot in it. “So, where’ve you been?”

  “Just work. I got some evening overtime on the days Scott doesn’t do. Always best to take it when it’s going.”

  “Wanna come to the pub tonight?”

  Jenny jerked her head up. She’d decided to let the friendship slide after the diary had arrived. The rumours in the village were spreading like wildfire, more embellished with every telling. She adjusted the mailbag, buying time. Her gaze danced around the street. It was just the two of them. “All right, but on one condition. You tell me the truth about what went on and how Annalise died.”

  His breath caught, and he, too, searched the street for anyone listening. “You heard?” Jason’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “Yes, but I’m big enough to hear both sides of the story before I decide on things. Anyway, it was me who delivered the diary to the shop.”

  He gave a slight nod. “All right, that’s a deal. Meet me there at seven o’clock tonight.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jenny arched her shoulders, sinking her neck into her collar. Shivers caressed her skin, the thick jacket not enough to fight off the biting wind. She hurried along the dark streets, lights blinking on in windows like eyes watching her progress. When the time to leave had come, she’d had to force herself out of the house, and not just because it was cold.

  What if this is a bad idea?

  The thought had plagued her since the afternoon, and even now it rattled inside her head.

  The pub door swung back. A blast of warm air greeted her, and she heaved a sigh of relief. Jenny undid her jacket while she glanced around the room. Barely a soul had ventured out; it seemed like they’d had the right idea. If she’d known Jason’s phone number, she would’ve called it off and stayed home like everyone else. Except for Martin. To Jenny, the man was huge, over six-foot-tall, well-built, and with a shock of dark hair. He stood alone at the bar, gazing into space until she approached.

  “Hi, Martin, how’re you? I thought you worked in the evenings?”

  Martin shifted his stance, straightening up after leaning cross-forearmed on the bar. “I’m off sick, got a bad back.”

  “Sorry to hear that. I thought I hadn’t seen you on overtime.”

  Jenny turned her head when the pub door opened. Jason had arrived. The temperature dipped a little, some of the warmth being sucked out by the deepening chill breeze. Jenny’s muscles trembled even though she was far enough away to be unaffected. She clasped her hands in front of her chest, pulling in her elbows.

  Just stay calm. I’m sure he’ll explain everything.

  A lack of clientele made
them easy to spot, and Jason had no difficulty striding across the carpet. Only one table was in use, and two men sat huddled with a conspiratorial presence of sharing a secret conversation. Jenny followed Jason’s gaze. It was fleeting, but he did a double-take, his stride faltering mid-step. He recovered quickly, greeting her with a wide smile. Jenny looked back at the two men—they hadn’t stopped talking, obviously unaware of the effect they’d had on him.

  Jason gave a brief nod towards Martin and asked, “What are you drinking?”

  “Jenny was about to order, and I’ll have another pint.” Martin was quick to take the offer, not missing the opportunity for a free drink.

  “Mine’s a wine,” she said.

  Their interest gravitated back to the occupied table, and no one spoke until Tracy, the barmaid, arrived. Jason placed his order, and that broke the freeze in the conversation that hadn’t got going in the first place.

  “Who’s that with George?” Jason asked.

  Jenny glanced from one to the other. Being new in the village meant she didn’t know who people were.

  Martin saw her confusion. “He’s a Detective Sergeant in the police. I heard he’s not that good at his job, gets shoved onto village matters. Must know some high-up people to not get kicked. No one wants to work with him.”

  “Is he always in here?”

  Martin shook his head and answered Jason’s question. “George called him Paul. The snippets I heard were about Annalise and that diary. He’s saying it’s more like a notebook and only covers a few weeks.”

  Jason nodded. “So Emma did show the police.”

  Jason and Martin watched the whispering continue, but Jenny saw something else. Tracy, a middle-aged woman dressed like a teenager, was hanging out down the other end of the bar. She seemed more interested in George and Paul than the glasses she was drying. She kept them in her view and only moved away when she had to. Some of the time she bent forward across the bar, slowly polishing the wood, her head cocked to one side. Jenny could swear she was straining to hear what they were saying.

  Jenny brought her own curiosity back to her companions. They’d both been around when Annalise had died. “Does that mean there are more of them?”

  Martin leant forward, saying, “That’s what they think but don’t know where to start searching. No one knows who sent it or why they’d had it for so long and not come forward before now.”

  “Yeah,” Jason agreed, “she was always writing in something.”

  Jenny kept her thoughts to herself. It was certainly a puzzle, someone having a vital piece of evidence and hiding it. What was strange was the public display of how it was revealed. It appeared to coincide with Jason’s return.

  If he had never come back, maybe it wouldn’t have been sent to the charity shop.

  She observed Jason out of the corner of her eye. Did someone know something about him no one else did? It crossed her mind, especially after the way Emma had behaved when she’d opened the parcel. Both Carmie and Emma were sure he’d killed Annalise, and the diary seemed to imply he was capable.

  Her mind must’ve wandered. Jason’s voice brought her back to reality. He’d walked away from her and was standing over the two men at the table, addressing them directly.

  Jason spoke through gritted teeth. “Hey, George, who’s your friend?”

  George, a man in his fifties with a mop of grey hair, looked up and then leant back in his chair. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Yeah, you can tell me who your friend is.”

  George got to his feet, his chair tipping backwards against his legs. “I’ll kindly ask you to mind your own business.”

  Jason’s nostrils flared as he glared at him. “It is my business. It’s me you’re discussing, so I want to know who the hell this is.”

  The other man, a portly fellow, held up a hand, managing to get both their attention. “It’s all right. My name is Paul Worthers, and I’m a private investigator from London.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Paul was of the same age bracket as George, mid-fifties with a thinning hairline. Jenny held her breath. Neither man seemed like a match for Jason, even if they took him on together. She was so used to Scott’s encounters ending in a fight, it was the first thing she expected when an argument erupted.

  Martin was all ears. He propped himself up on his elbows, a maniacal grin in place. The sight of it had Jenny shuddering. He appeared like he was enjoying the drama too much. She slid away from him, pretending she was trying to get a better view.

  Paul wasn’t shy about stating his business. “I’ve been employed to investigate the death of Annalise Jessop, and DS George has been filling me in on what happened.”

  The muscles contorted in Jason’s face and neck. “Are you actually allowed to do that?”

  “Of course, it’s an old case and was closed. It’s just a friendly chat over a few beers.” It sounded like Paul had a knack for defusing a situation. He must come across many an angry relative taking out their grief on him.

  Jason stabbed a finger towards Paul’s face. “Well, if you’ve got questions about me, you ask me directly. I’ve heard the rumours going around the village, and it’s all rubbish.” Turning to George, he said, “As for you, keep your nose out of where it don’t belong.”

  Jenny gawped, her mouth agape when Jason turned on his heel and marched back to where she stood. His nostrils still flared, and his chest heaved out hard breaths. Picking up his pint, he winked at her before taking a gulp then setting it back down. He then leant on the bar, staring at the grain of the polished wood.

  “Do you want to leave?” Jenny asked, her voice lowered.

  “No,” he answered.

  She fiddled with her glass and glanced at Martin. He stood in the same relaxed position, surveying his surroundings. Next, she snuck a peek at Tracy. The woman was still watching the men. It struck Jenny that no one had intervened when things had got heated. Tracy hadn’t called Dave, her husband and the landlord, to sort things out.

  While Jenny observed the woman out of the corner of her eye, George got up to use the men’s. His leaving the room made no difference to her level of interest—it was Paul she’d been staring at. It was clear he pretended not to notice but took the break in conversation to get up and walk to the bar for a couple more drinks. Tracy turned her back to him until he rang the bell for service. She took her time putting down the glass she’d been drying, slowly walking to the spot where he stood.

  Jenny’s mouth dropped open as she watched. Tracy seemed oblivious to the drama that had just occurred. She cocked her head to one side, a flirtatious smile playing across her lips. Once the drink was poured, she slid it across the bar, hanging on to the glass until Paul’s fingers brushed against hers. She did the same with his change, not releasing the coins until his hand cupped hers, holding it for too long.

  Jenny wondered what would’ve happened next if Dave hadn’t entered the room. Tracy snapped back when the door behind the bar swung open. Her face changed like nothing had been going on. She was all business, turning away from Paul and picking up the cloth to wipe the back of the bar. Dave fussed about with the cash till, ringing in a sale and removing some change. He tore the receipt from the top of the machine, then left the room without saying a word. Jenny gave her head a slight shake. She’d be amazed if something wasn’t going on between Tracy and Paul and her husband had no idea.

  Jenny turned back to her companions, asking Jason, “So what the hell’s going on?”

  “Someone’s hired him to investigate Annalise’s death.”

  “All because a diary turned up? Surely if there was anything bad in it the police would’ve arrested someone by now?”

  Martin and Jason glanced at each other. Something exchanged between them, but she didn’t know what.

  Martin spoke next, but Jenny had a feeling they both already knew the answer. “Who do you think sent it?”

  Jason shrugged. “S
omeone with a vicious nature.”

  Neither of the men were shedding any light on the whole business, even though it’d been the condition Jason had agreed with her earlier that day. She wanted to know the facts, not just the gossip. Carmie’s insisting the diary was an omen needed to be put to rest. Jenny couldn’t do that if he didn’t tell her the truth.

  Jenny wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “I thought you were going to tell me your side of things.”

  Jason rubbed his furrowed brow with his fingers, letting out a sigh. “Annalise and I were friends.”

  She waited for him to expand, but he didn’t. “Okay, just friends or something more?”

  He stared into his pint before answering. “We dated for a while, but it didn’t work, so we stayed friends. Good friends.”

  “So what happened to Annalise?”

  Jason winced. “She drowned.” His voice cracked. “It was the last party we went to at the village hall, and she went missing. I looked for her—she was trying to kill herself. I had to fight to stop her and bring her back, but she disappeared again later and was found dead the next day.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realise that’s what happened.”

  Martin clasped her hand. Jenny fought the urge to yank it away.

  “It was a hard time for everyone,” Martin said.

  She forced her attention back to Jason. “What do you think Paul’s going to do?”

  He shrugged. “Start asking questions of everyone who was there and go over the evidence. There could be more diaries out there. Who knows what’s in them.”

  “Do you think something was going on, that she wrote it down?” Jenny’s mind was working overtime; it was a lot to take in. “Surely if she committed suicide there’s nothing to investigate?”

  “No, there wouldn’t be,” Jason said. “Unless they think it might be murder after all.”

  Chapter Eight