A Simple Country Killing

by Blythe Baker

  “I don’t know…” Irene said in a low voice. “But they should be ashamed of themselves. If we knew who did this, we could take their names to the police and let Inspector Graves handle them. This is vandalism!”

  Nathanial pulled another sign from the yard free, sending fresh dirt flying against the legs of his trousers. “There aren’t any names, unfortunately,” he said, looking the sign over from front to back. “I don’t recognize the handwriting, either.”

  “It wasn’t here this morning,” I said. “None of this was.”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Irene said as Nathanial walked around to the back of the house to check. “Don’t you worry, dear. We won’t let them get away with this.”

  How could we possibly stop an anonymous attack like this, I wondered?

  I had never felt more defeated than I did in that moment. Having lost the will to fight, I could only stand there and stare. Even though Nathanial had removed the signs, their words had been freshly seared into my mind.

  “I’m more convinced that we are making the right decision by you coming to stay with us,” Irene said. “What if you had been home when all this happened? Who knows what they might have done…”

  “Everything seems fine out back,” Nathanial said, reappearing around the corner of the cottage. “Nothing more than some unruly weeds in the flowerbed.” He tried to smile at me, but I couldn’t quite muster the same in reply.

  “Come along, Nathanial,” Irene said. “Let’s get Helen back to the house so she can rest.”

  Not much was said on the way back to their home. Nathanial and Irene discussed plans for dinner, on which I felt like I was imposing, but I hardly heard anything they were saying to one another.

  Everything seemed to be moving in a blur around me. All I could think about were those signs fixed to my door, and in the yard…

  “Helen, dear, why don’t you go ahead and take a nice, long bath before dinner?” Irene asked me as we arrived back at their house. She helped me out of the cumbersome jacket I’d chosen to wear when I went to investigate Lucas Adams, setting it on the back of one of the chairs in the dining room. “Maybe it will help you relax a little.”

  “Perhaps I will,” I said, smiling a tight smile at her. “If it’s all right with you. I could very well help with dinner.”

  “You can help with dinner as soon as you are all refreshed,” Irene said. “Now go, please. You’ve had a hard enough day as it is.”

  In truth, I found the exhaustion was beginning to catch up with me. As I sunk into the frothy, warm water, sleepiness made my eyelids droop, and I fought yawn after yawn as I massaged my weary muscles.

  You’ve had a hard day as it is.

  In my recent life, it seemed that I was having more hard days than easy ones. Admittedly, though, the days seemed to be getting harder and harder as time passed. In a way, I would have given almost anything to go back in time to when I was only looking through the clues that might point me in the direction of what had happened to my aunt. Somehow, things had seemed simpler back then.

  Now people were leaving terrible messages on my front door, intended to frighten me and make me feel remorse for something I hadn’t even done…for a murder I never committed.

  My world felt as if it were becoming smaller now, and especially small was the list of those who I could definitely trust. Irene, Nathanial, and Sam Graves. Enough to count on one hand.

  I sunk down beneath the water, blowing frustrated bubbles from my lips. Those were not great numbers, especially when anyone in this village could have been the one to kill Mr. James…

  It made little sense, and if anything, made me feel as if everything in my life was coming to a head. Things can’t get any worse than they are now…right? I thought.

  My father once told me to never tempt fate. Never say never. He said that most of the time, the way we responded to events in our lives was more about perspective than the actual events themselves.

  Maybe that was how I had to look at this whole thing. Perhaps if I could just change my response to it, become more proactive than reactive, then everything might turn out differently.

  There was no way to be certain…except to try.

  I pulled the plug at the bottom of the tub, watching as the water swirled around in a vortex, disappearing down the drain. The evening air brushed against my flushed, damp skin, chilling me, and waking me up.

  I couldn’t wallow in self-pity. That wasn’t helpful to anyone, and I certainly was not going to get any further in my investigations by allowing myself to be troubled by what some angry people had to say.

  It took more willpower than anger to force the images from my mind, but as I dressed in an outfit that Irene had found for me, I determined that I was not going to think about the signs any longer, and would focus instead on finding the murderer so I could go back to living my life.

  Besides…if we find the real killer, than perhaps those people will apologize for ever saying such terrible things, I thought hopefully.

  I wandered out into the kitchen, where the heady scent of garlic filled the air.

  “Something smells wonderful,” I said as I ran a brush through the ends of my hair, my towel draped over my shoulder to catch the falling droplets of bath water.

  Irene, who stood at the stove, swiveled her head to smile at me. “I’d hoped so. Would you like to help me peel the carrots and potatoes?”

  “I’d be happy to,” I said, setting the brush and towel down into one of the kitchen chairs.

  I stepped up to the counter, finding the station and ingredients all ready for me. I knew this was a simple task that Michael could have done had he been home, but I appreciated Irene’s desire to give me something to do with my hands so that I didn’t feel entirely helpless.

  “How was the bath?” she asked.

  “Just what I needed, really,” I said. “I think it helped me to realize that I needed to not focus on the signs, and instead focus on the case itself.”

  “That’s good,” Irene said. “You know, it was probably the work of just one busybody who had far too much time on his or her hands.”

  “I understand, in a way…” I said. “Mr. James was not just some random citizen here in the village. He was a prominent figure, well loved by all, including me. It’s devastating to think that something so horrific happened to him, which is why I want to help get to the bottom of it. Even though the people in the village want to think they know the truth, the reality is that they don’t, and I just have to accept that.” I picked up the thin knife Irene had set out for me, and began to peel the carrot nearest to me, which was rather fat around the stem. “My father told me all the time when I was young that, often times, our experiences are more about our responses, instead of the situations themselves. It’s very easy to react to something going wrong, but what is more important is that we choose to react well. Does that make sense?”

  “Very much so,” Irene said. “What do you plan to do next, then? You have the Inspector following up about the mechanic, yes?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Though I’m not entirely confident in that. Part of me wonders if I was just so desperate to find the person who killed the vicar that I latched onto the first thing that even remotely looked like a lead.”

  “Are you rethinking your earlier assessment, then?” she asked.

  I finished peeling that first carrot, and began to slice it into narrow discs. “I don’t know,” I said. “He was so unwilling to speak to me about anything, that I cannot be sure of what his intentions were at all, if he had any in the first place. You see, when I asked him about Mr. James, he immediately became cold and angry, and didn’t want to talk about it any further.”

  “That’s not a normal reaction,” Irene said as she poured some turkey stock into a pot on the stove. “It is definitely suspicious.”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no,” I said, upending the cutting board with the diced carrots into the bowl Irene had set aside for me before pickin
g up another to peel. “If what you said earlier is true, though, and he’d had a romantic involvement with Mr. James’ daughter but was then forbidden from seeing her again…that would certainly leave behind feelings of resentment, especially if the relationship had been serious in nature.”

  “That is true, I suppose,” Irene said. “What exactly did he say to you?”

  “Very little,” I said. “He told me he had made his peace with what happened, and that his connection with the family had long since passed.”

  “But the boots – ” Irene said.

  “That was a bit of a stretch, even I’ll admit,” I said. “That sort of mud can be found down by the river, since there is so much clay along the banks and in the riverbed itself. It might just be a coincidence that it also happens to be the same sort of mud that is mixed in with the dirt up near the churchyard…”

  Irene pursed her lips. “Why do you seem determined to throw away the first good lead you’ve had?”

  “Because I’m not certain it really is a lead in the first place,” I said. “I can’t explain it, but it…I don’t know. It doesn’t quite sit right with me. In all honesty, it makes me wonder if I’m back at square one, and if I should just keep looking. The question would be…where? Who can I trust?”

  Irene gave me a sidelong look out of the corner of her grey eyes.

  “I know I can trust you,” I said. “But we followed the lead that you suggested. For now, it has brought us to a dead end.”

  “For now,” Irene said.

  I dumped some more peeled carrots into the bowl, which Irene then picked up and overturned into the pot of now simmering broth.

  “Perhaps your best option would be to call Sam Graves once again,” Irene said. “That way you can see if he found out anything about Lucas Adams today.”

  “I doubt he would have had time already,” I said. “But I thought about calling him anyways, to see if someone could watch my house through all of this. Sam won’t be very happy to hear that someone vandalized it like they did.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Irene said.

  “The truth is, I don’t think there is anyone in the village that I could ask for help if I wanted to,” I said. “It’s incredibly frustrating, but for now, everyone is going to see me as nothing more than a suspect.”

  Irene sighed, dipping her wooden spoon into the broth and giving it a gentle mix. “Indeed. I’ve heard far too many nasty rumors. I suppose I always do, but I never in all my life thought I would hear them about you.”

  I smiled at her. “That is kind of you to say,” I said. “What I need to do now is to find someone who was embittered toward the church, but also toward Mr. James himself.”

  “Unfortunately, that could be a great many people,” Irene said. “People find reasons to get angry at God all the time, and end up leaving the church for rather ridiculous reasons.”

  “I know,” I said. “Which is going to make this task of finding the real killer that much more difficult.”

  9

  Irene and I agreed that first thing in the morning, I was going to speak with Inspector Graves. All of the determination I had felt seemed strong enough. I had never second guessed myself before.

  In the morning, though…I began to doubt whether or not it was the right time to speak with him yet.

  “But you were so convinced he could help last night,” Irene said as I helped her spread fresh tablecloths over the tables down in the tea room. “What changed your mind?”

  “I think he would have tried to contact me if he learned anything about Lucas,” I said. “And to be quite honest, I don’t think I could bring myself to walk back into the police station. Not yet.”

  “You could always call him,” Irene said.

  “Yes, but I would have to speak with that wretched secretary first,” I said. “The one who spread all those rumors about Sam and me being together?”

  Irene sighed, shaking her head as she smoothed the wrinkles from the tablecloth she’d just laid down. “I understand your reluctance, but if this would help you to find the culprit sooner – ”

  “I’m not convinced it would,” I said. “I just think it would be wasting his time.”

  “What about the vandalism to your home?” she asked. “Wouldn’t that be enough to get him to do something?”

  “Perhaps,” I said. “But even still, I would feel as if I was imposing on him.”

  “What do you plan to do, instead?” Irene asked.

  “Something I probably should have done the morning after Mr. James was killed,” I said. “I think in my fear it completely slipped my mind. I need to go and examine the place where he was killed.”

  Irene stopped, giving me a startled look. “Helen, you cannot be serious,” she said. “Won’t the police be watching it?”

  “Not anymore,” I said. “At least, probably not. If anything, it might be roped off.”

  “Won’t someone see you?” she asked.

  “I have that disguise,” I said. “I’ll wear it and say I was coming to pay my respects.”

  Irene did not seem convinced that it was a wise idea, but I’d set my heart on it. “Besides, if I find some more clues, then maybe I can bring a clearer story to Sam, making it even more unlikely that I was the killer in the first place. Maybe I’ll find a footprint, or a scrap of fabric. Who knows?”

  “Wouldn’t the police have found that when they were doing their own investigations in the area?” she asked.

  “Perhaps,” I said. “But they may have been more concerned about the body at that point in time. It couldn’t hurt. And it will keep me out of people’s way. I promise I won’t dawdle. When I get back, I’ll help you in the kitchen again.”

  “That’s not why I was worried about you going…” Irene said.

  I got ready after that in the same disguise as the one I’d worn when I went to see Lucas Adams. I tied my hair back, draped the same silk scarf around my neck. The sunglasses came in handy, as well, since the sun was so bright that Saturday morning.

  As I made my way to the stairs, I pulled the hat over my face, keeping the brim low so as to hide my features. It had worked fairly well the last time I’d worn it. Irene simply knew me too well to be fooled.

  “Be careful,” she urged me as she laid out the teapots beside the stove in the kitchen downstairs, the shop ten minutes from opening.

  “I will,” I said, and slipped out into the morning.

  At once, I regretted the jacket. The air was humid, and the thick, puffy clouds overhead indicated that rain was imminent that afternoon. I would have been much happier in a light dress with capped sleeves and a thin sweater.

  Too bad all those clothes were back at my house. I made a mental note to ask Nathanial to go with Irene to fetch a few new outfits for me. I was growing tired of wearing the same thing day in and day out.

  I walked down High Street, which was bustling as usual on Saturday. School was going to be back in session soon enough, and the children seemed to be doing all they could to make the most of the few days of freedom they had left, choosing to spend their time outdoors from the time the sun came up until it went back down again.

  A man in a suit wandered past, his hand clutching a briefcase with worn corners and a long scratch across the front. He tipped his hat at me as he passed, not slowing his quick gait.

  I continued down the street, acting as if I, too, had somewhere important to be.

  The cemetery came into view a short time later, the wrought iron fence lining the side of the street, the lonely headstones dotting the landscape beyond.

  My stomach twisted into knots as memories of the night I’d found Mr. James in there came rushing back, as clear as if they had just happened.

  I hovered near the entrance, staring up the dirt path leading further inside.

  I took a deep breath, my heart beating uncomfortably in my chest, and stepped through.

  I could have made my way to the place where Mr. James had died with
my eyes closed. In my dreams, I’d run through the graves every night since it happened. I felt myself almost drawn toward the spot, as if the tree where I’d found him was a magnet, lulling me in its direction against my will.

  When I reached the ancient tree, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  He isn’t there, I told myself. His body won’t be there.

  No, it wouldn’t be. I knew that. But in my mind…that was a different story.

  I stepped around the tree, and was faintly surprised at how ordinary the area looked.

  I wasn’t sure if I had expected blood, or a weapon lying there on the ground, or Mr. James’ glasses, cast off in the struggle for his life. None of those things were there.

  The dirt around the base of the tree seemed to be disturbed, but no more than the paths nearby, or any different than any of the other trees I’d passed. The grass had already started to grow once again in the area, and there wasn’t anything like a gash in the tree, or a stain in the bark.

  Nothing could be seen that indicated it was the place where Mr. James had met his end…and returned home to be with the Lord.

  I laid my hand against the tree, my knees suddenly weak. I could still smell the tang of his blood, feel the fear in his eyes as he stared up at me, unfocused.

  I clutched at my heart which felt like it might beat right out of my chest.

  I turned away, holding the tree for support, taking great gulps of air, trying to stop the shaking in my hands and legs.

  It took me a few moments to gather myself, but there was nothing there to see. There wasn’t even any police tape, which I had fully expected to see. Nothing to indicate that a man had died here.

  I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or saddened because of that.

  I started toward the main entrance near the front of the church, not wanting to go back through the same side gate that I’d entered through before, in case anyone had been watching. I hoped that people would have thought nothing of me, lingering near the churchyard, debating about going within.