A Simple Country Killing

by Blythe Baker

  He spotted me near the stove, and a smile crossed over his face.

  “Dinner is very nearly ready,” I said, pulling open the oven and peering inside. The heat brushed against my face as I inspected the top of the potatoes. “Perhaps another five or so minutes.”

  We all sat down at the table together. Nathanial kindly hefted the large shepherd’s pie I’d made and set it down in the middle of the table. Irene served Michael first, who didn’t even seem to mind that it was steaming hot. We said grace, and everyone eagerly dove into their meal.

  “This is delicious,” Irene said, giving me an appreciative grin. “How did you get the meat to be so flavorful?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I just did it the way that my grandmother taught me when I was a little girl.”

  “What sort of spices did you add?” Irene asked.

  “Only what you have here,” I said. “Salt, ground peppercorn, some parsley, and some paprika – ”

  “That must be it,” Irene said, smiling at her husband. “Paprika. What a wonderful idea. It just makes it so much more flavorful.”

  “I’m done,” Michael said, a smear of mashed potatoes streaked across his cheekbone. He slid down from his chair. “Can I go play outside now?”

  Irene reached out and took his chin in one hand, and wiped her napkin across his cheek with the other. Then she kissed his forehead. “Very well,” she said. “Make sure you are inside by half past eight.”

  “I will be!” Michael said, and he took off down the stairs.

  Irene moved to clean her son’s plate up as Nathanial glanced over his shoulder at the sound of Michael excitedly making a dash for the outside.

  “Well, now that the young ears are absent,” Irene said, glancing back and forth between Sam and I. “Feel free to move into the sitting room. I’ll get some tea ready. And this delicious pie that the inspector brought.”

  We went into the next room, settling into our respective seats. Nathanial took his armchair beside the fire, and I took the padded bench beneath the window. Inspector Graves sat down on the far side of the sofa, his back rigid.

  “Inspector, you are welcome to feel at home here,” Irene said, bringing some glasses of cold water to the coffee table. “I promise you don’t have to feel as if you are working.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Driscoll,” Sam said, but he didn’t change his posture. “Thank you once again for having me over for a meal. It’s been some time since I have eaten in a family setting.”

  “That’s terrible,” Irene said from the kitchen. “No one should have to eat alone.”

  “It’s not out of choice, at least not usually,” Sam said. “I’m often at the station well into the evening, filing paperwork or making phone calls.”

  “They work you too hard,” Nathanial said, shaking his head. “Surely there are others who could take your shift some nights?”

  “I certainly wish,” Sam said. “It’s the price I pay for the job I’ve chosen.”

  “I imagine this latest case has kept you busy,” I said, giving him a concerned look.

  He met my gaze, his eyes, piercing blue, reflecting the same concern. “Yes…” he said heavily. “Perhaps too busy. I haven’t had much of a chance to breathe lately, much less get to follow up on the leads that I’ve wanted to.”

  “You haven’t?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Helen. I know you wanted me to speak with that mechanic, but the chief has had me working day and night on a different case all together.”

  “What?” I asked. “What sort of case?”

  “Can’t share that,” Sam said, looking down at his hands knotted in his lap. “I’m sorry, but it’s nothing all that serious, and it doesn’t involve you at all. It’s ridiculous, if you ask me, entirely a waste of my time, especially when a murderer is still out there on the loose.”

  I realized he wasn’t looking at me when he said that. I said, “All of the police think I did it, don’t they? All of them but you?”

  Sam’s brief glance up at me said everything for him.

  I sighed with exasperation. “Well, they will certainly be surprised when they find out that they, like everyone else, are wrong.”

  “Yes, they will be,” Sam said. “So why don’t you tell me exactly what you’ve learned about this case so that we can move forward?”

  I shifted on the bench I sat on, my nerves twinging. “Well…I’d hoped you had a chance to go and check out Lucas Adams,” I said. “Though I’m not entirely certain he’s our killer. Too many coincidences. However, when I went to the cemetery to search the area where Mr. James’ body had been, I ran into an elderly gentleman who lives across from the church. His name was Barty Grey.”

  “Barty Grey,” Nathanial said. “I know him. He’s quite an ornery man, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” I said. “And he seems to have disliked Mr. James.”

  Sam folded his arms, his thick, dark brow furrowing. “Did he?” he asked. “All right, tell me what you learned.”

  “He told me that he had seen quite a few people wandering around the cemetery,” I said. “That’s how he noticed me. Called out to me, telling me I wasn’t the first one curious about the vicar’s death.”

  “He said that?” Irene asked. “What gall.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said. “But he was completely right. That was precisely what I was doing over there. It seems that there have been many others, pretending to visit the graves of loved ones or simply taking a stroll…he said he wasn’t fooled, though, knowing they were going to see where the body had been.”

  “That’s quite morose,” Nathanial said.

  “Did he mention names?” Sam asked.

  I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I even asked if he’d noticed certain people showing up more than once. He insisted that if someone had killed Mr. James, they likely wouldn’t return to the place where he’d been killed, out of fear of being caught.”

  “I’m not sure I entirely agree,” Sam said. “Some people are so driven by guilt that they can’t help but go back and make sure their tracks have been covered, sometimes literally.”

  “That’s what I would have thought,” Nathanial said. “Interesting that he didn’t name any names, though.”

  “He said that he didn’t think I did it,” I said.

  “That could have been flattery,” Sam said.

  “No,” I said. “I was disguised, and claimed to be Penelope Driscoll, Nathanial’s cousin.”

  Nathanial straightened. “I didn’t realize I had a cousin Penelope.”

  “Well, now you do,” I said. “In case someone asks after her.”

  Nathanial nodded, worry creasing his brow.

  “You weren’t lying when you said you’ve had your fair share of practice lately,” Sam said.

  “Precisely,” I said.

  “And you said that he didn’t like Mr. James?” Irene asked, reappearing with a tray of steaming teacups, setting it down beside the water that none of us had touched yet. “That’s rather odd, isn’t it? How could someone not like that wonderful man?”

  “He didn’t seem to despise him,” I said. “He just seemed to think that he was simply pretending. He said that no one can be that kind and compassionate. He said that everyone has a past, and that he wasn’t sure he could trust someone who seemed as fake as Mr. James.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” Nathanial said. “Did he even know him?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea.” I looked over at Sam. “He did say that years of watching people break their promises and turn their backs on one another led him to a rather cynical view of the world, and may have contributed to his rather troubling view.”

  Sam sighed, looking down. “Unfortunately, I can understand that mentality. I wonder if he ever worked in police or government in some capacity.”

  “I don’t know…” I said. “I should have asked.”

  “So is this man a suspect, then?” Irene asked, wiping her
hands on the apron that she’d put on. “Or just a source of information?”

  “I suppose anyone with any form of motive should be considered as a suspect,” Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Though to be honest, none of the suspects we’ve unearthed yet seem to meet the criteria for murder. Simple dislike or coincidences are weak, at best. What we need is someone with real motive, or even a real connection to Mr. James…”

  He glanced over at me.

  “Which is why I was wondering if you’d gone to speak with the family yet.”

  I blinked at him. “Me? Why?”

  “Because that is what you do, isn’t it?” he asked. “You seek out the ties to the victims and find a way to talk with them. This time, though, you haven’t gone to see the family. Why?”

  “Well, for one, I thought you already have?” I asked.

  “I did,” he said. “But even still, I’m curious as to why you didn’t.”

  “I haven’t been able to leave the house, much less speak with anyone with the scarlet letter painted across my chest,” I said. “And I am quite certain that his family would absolutely despise the sight of me, especially given the fact that I am the primary suspect for Mr. James’ murder as of now.”

  Sam nodded. “Well, I suppose that does make sense. Yet you went and talked to the mechanic who had been seeing his daughter at one point in time?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But as I said, I’m not entirely sure that was a fruitful errand. You see, I think he might be innocent.”

  “But you don’t know that for sure,” Irene said. “Those boots – ”

  “What boots?” Sam asked.

  “I didn’t tell you when we spoke?” I asked. “I found a pair of boots covered in the same type of mud that makes up the ground of the cemetery when I went snooping around the mechanic’s place.”

  “That’s good evidence, isn’t it?” Irene asked.

  “It would be, if the same sort of clay wasn’t also in the riverbeds all along the outskirts of the city,” I said.

  “She’s right,” Sam said. “It could point right to him as the killer, or it could mean nothing at all. I hadn’t realized you had found something like that. However…I still am rather suspicious about Mr. James’ daughter. Especially after how she evaded me when I went to see her and the rest of the family.”

  “She evaded you?” I asked. “Why? Wouldn’t she realize that would make her more suspicious?”

  “Perhaps not,” he said. “I didn’t think much of it at the time, given the fact that everyone was grieving, and I felt as if I was intruding while they were preparing for a funeral they never saw coming.”

  “I wonder if we were to speak to her about Lucas Adams, maybe she would be able to give us more information than what he gave me?” I asked.

  “It’s not a bad assumption,” Sam said. “My plan was to go and follow-up with the family sometime in the next few days, especially when the funeral is upon us.”

  “They finally set a date?” I asked.

  “Seems so,” Sam said. “Would you be interested in going with me? Perhaps underneath one of your disguises?”

  I brightened. “You’d be all right with that?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise,” he said. “I realize that you want to get your name cleared, and that’s what I want, too. I…saw what happened to your home. The names, the writing on the signs…those sorts of terrible things. The sooner we can figure this whole mess out, the better for everyone.”

  I set my jaw, my eyes narrowing. “When do we meet with the family?”

  “Tomorrow at ten,” Sam said. “And make sure you dress for a funeral.”

  11

  If anyone had told me a year ago that I’d be working alongside the police inspector of a small village to help solve a murder, I would have thought they were positively mad. Why in the world would someone like me ever get involved with something as atrocious as murder?

  I also never would have thought I could end up as a suspect in a murder investigation, either…but I had been caught trying to help the victim, his blood all over my hands…

  I checked my outfit in the mirror one last time, hoping that I did not look at all like myself.

  Irene had given me a bottle of food coloring she would often use for decorating cakes and cookies, a vibrant red that reminded me far too much of fresh blood.

  “If you wash some of this through your hair, it could give you a temporary dye for the investigation,” she said. “It certainly wouldn’t last very long, but it could be enough to keep them from recognizing you easily.”

  I’d stood in the shower for nearly an hour, deftly trying to rub some of the food coloring through my chestnut hair, watching with mingled horror and fascination as the color ran through my fingers, and down the length of the tub to the drain. It stained the ends of my fingertips pink, leading me to decide to wear a pair of delicate black silk gloves.

  After drying and styling my hair, I realized that it was considerably redder than it had been before. With a few swipes of my scissors as well, I trimmed my hair to my shoulders, curling the ends with some rollers, which was something I would not typically do for everyday wear.

  I chose a darker red lipstick, and caked on the blush and eyeshadow, making sure to highlight my cheekbones. I painted dark, heavy lines around my eyes, and brushed on so much mascara that I thought my eyelashes must sound like the legs of a scurrying beetle whenever I blinked.

  By the time I’d dressed in the same dress I’d worn for Roger’s funeral, I was certain I would be unable to recognize myself.

  How right I was.

  Inspector Graves called me that morning, saying he would stop by the Driscoll’s house to pick me up on our way down to the James’ home.

  “I’ll be here,” I told him, hearing footsteps behind me in the kitchen. “See you soon.”

  When I hung up and turned around, I found Irene standing there, gaping at me, her jaw nearly touching the floor.

  “Helen…” she said, rather breathlessly. “You…you look so different.”

  Self-consciously, I reached up and touched the ends of my hair. It was quite a bit shorter than it had been the night before. I smiled sheepishly at her. “Do I look just terrible?”

  “No, not at all,” Irene said. “If I didn’t know it was you staying here, I would have assumed one of our teahouse guests had wandered up here by mistake.”

  She walked over to me, staring at my hair.

  “The dye seems to have done the trick,” she said. “Though I’m certain it will wash out the next time you take a shower.”

  “Good,” I said. “I feel as if I look too much like my sister now. Her hair is quite red, you know. I could likely pass as her twin.”

  “Well, I think you will be able to investigate this case without anyone recognizing you,” Irene said. “Who did you say you were going to be portraying today?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind, yet…” I said. “Who could be believable enough that the James’ would allow me entrance to their home alongside the inspector?”

  “I imagine they won’t question his decision,” Irene said. “He is the police, after all.”

  Nathanial’s voice called up the stairs a short time later. “The inspector just pulled up outside.”

  I glanced at Irene, who nodded at me. “You’ll do just fine,” she said, smiling in a reassuring way.

  I hugged her before I started downstairs, keeping my hat pulled low over my face in case any of the patrons at the teahouse saw me.

  I slipped into the passenger seat of the police car, pulling the door shut behind me.

  When I looked over at Sam, whose eyes were as large as teacups, I blushed. “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said, blinking at me. “For a moment, I was wondering if I should ask a young woman such as yourself why she felt the need to get into a police car.”

  “Irene was also surprised,” I said, somewhat ann
oyed. “This disguise cannot be that good. I don’t see why you both are lying to me like you are.”

  “Oh, on the contrary,” he said, shifting the car into drive. “You look like a different woman all together.”

  “I’m uncertain as to whether or not I should take that as a compliment,” I said, giving him a wry sidelong smile.

  He returned it just as easily before we headed off through the village.

  I was none too surprised when we pulled up outside a home that was right beside the church. A vicarage, no doubt, giving Mr. James direct access to the building whenever he needed it.

  “It must be torture for his family to be living here right now…” I said as we got out of the car, staring up at the lovely, quiet home. “Knowing that he died so close by, and no one was around to help him…”

  “Apart from you, that is,” Sam said.

  “Yes, and look how much good I did,” I said.

  “You did what you could,” Sam said.

  We walked up to the door, where Sam knocked on the polished, brass knocker that was in the shape of a wren.

  A commotion was heard inside, followed by a woman’s scolding voice. “Get down – no, I said get down, Lila. Please.”

  The click of the lock was soon followed by the door swinging inward, revealing a pretty middle-aged woman with dark hair cut around her ears. “Oh, Inspector Graves,” she said, her leg pushing against something out of sight. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon today.”

  “My apologies, Mrs. James,” he said. “Are we too early?”

  “No, it’s all right,” she said, ducking behind the door. “Lila, please. I’m sorry, our dog has been a mess since Walter died…she thinks everyone coming to the door is him finally coming home.”

  My heart ached as a blonde Labrador poked her nose between Mrs. James’ leg and the door, sniffing eagerly at the air. She couldn’t possibly understand what was happening…

  “I’m afraid I haven’t met your associate,” Mrs. James said, grabbing onto Lila’s collar, holding her back from Sam and I.