by Blythe Baker
“This is Penelope Driscoll,” Sam said. “She is a cousin to Nathanial Driscoll. Lives in London, and works for the police department there. She is considering transferring here to our station, and I thought her expertise might prove useful in this case.”
She gave me a rather peculiar look. “Oh, of course,” she said, smiling politely up at me, though I noticed how it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, won’t you come in?”
She moved aside to allow us through, and released Lila as soon as the door was shut behind her.
“I apologize for the mess,” she said, grabbing a vase of flowers, one of several that sat on tables and chairs in the entryway. “Things have been a bit hectic around here.”
“Never you worry, Mrs. James,” Sam said. “I promised you we would get this case solved, and I never break my promises.”
“That’s a relief to hear, Inspector,” she said. “Please, won’t you come in here?”
She gestured for us to follow her into a sitting room, which was just as messy as the rest of the house. Clothing had been draped over the back of a handsome maroon wingback chair, and a desk in the corner was piled high with papers and books. The coffee table, cluttered with teacups and small plates and napkins, looked as if it was nothing more than a secondary place for kitchen dishes.
Mrs. James picked up a pair of dress shoes – men’s shoes – from the sofa, brushed it off with the back of her hand, and patted the cushion. “Here you are, Inspector, Miss Driscoll.”
Sam and I politely took the seat on the couch.
Mrs. James hurried to another chair opposite us, perching awkwardly on the edge of the cushion as if she might need to flee at any moment, her hands knotted tightly in her lap. “What can I do for you, Inspector? What have you found out about my husband’s case?”
“Your husband was an influential man in town,” Sam said. “With that sort of position, there are many connections to investigate.”
“Are you saying you have found more possible suspects?” she asked, her pencil-thin eyebrows knitting as tightly together as her fingers. “But I thought there was only the one, that woman who just moved here some months ago – ”
Sam shook his head, leaning forward. “I’m sorry, Mrs. James, but finding the killer won’t be as easy as that. Mrs. Lightholder, while still remaining in town, is at the bottom of our suspect list.”
“But they found her, over my husband’s dead body, with his blood all over her hands – ” Mrs. James said, her eyes beginning to bulge. She recovered quickly, though, taking in a deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes. “And you’re telling me she isn’t the one?”
“No,” Sam said. “We…have some other leads we would like to investigate, but we needed some more information first.”
“What sort of information?” Mrs. James asked.
“Is Rachel home?” Sam asked. “She was the one I didn’t get to speak with very much when I was here last.”
Mrs. James’ brow furrowed further. “I don’t see why you would need to speak to my children,” she said. “Haven’t they been through enough?”
“I realize they have suffered a great deal,” Sam said. “But there may be information only they can help me with.”
Mrs. James’s piercing gaze fixed itself on Sam for a few moments, her hands wringing in her lap. “Rachel is home, yes,” she said after a few heartbeats. “Shall I go retrieve her?”
“That would be good, yes,” Sam said.
She rose from her seat and excused herself from the room.
Sam glanced over at me.
“She’s hurting, clearly,” I said.
“Yes, and she doesn’t trust me, either,” Sam said. “I don’t blame her, though. She wants me to find answers, and the only thing I come back to her with is more questions.”
“I can see how that would be infuriating…” I said.
“Indeed,” Sam agreed.
A few minutes later, raised voices floated down from the floor above us.
Sam and I exchanged a concerned look.
It wasn’t long before we heard stomping down the stairs, and a young woman appeared in the doorway, dressed entirely in black, attempting to wrangle a hooped earring through her left earlobe.
Sam rose to his feet. “Ah, Miss Rachel. Please, won’t you join us – ”
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” she snapped, glaring at him.
I noticed a redness in her eyes, and a puffiness around her face. She’d been crying, and recently.
“Rachel, sweetheart…” her mother said, appearing behind her, a stern frown etched onto her pretty face. “Remember, he’s with the police.”
Rachel reminded me a great deal of her father. She had the same lean frame as he did, but while she had the same eyes and the same nose, she lacked the general warmth that I always felt from Mr. James.
She folded her arms, rolling her eyes, and took a reluctant step into the room. “Fine,” she snapped. “What do you want?”
“We just want to talk,” Sam said in as gentle of a voice as he could. The effect was lost, however, as he shifted his weight and folded his arms. “I know this has been a very difficult time for you, losing your father.”
Rachel’s nose wrinkled, and her chin pointed upward slightly.
“Why don’t you come and sit down with us?” I asked, waving her into the room. “We promise all we want to do is talk, so we can help find your father’s – ”
“He’s dead,” she said sharply, glaring at me with flashing eyes. “Nothing you do will bring him back, not even finding who killed him.”
“That’s true,” I said. “But we can certainly find justice for you and your – ”
“Who is this?” Rachel asked, her hip cocked as she pointed at me. “I don’t remember her being here last time.”
“She’s an associate of mine from London,” Sam said as easily as if it were true. “She’s agreed to help us with this case.”
Rachel opened her mouth to snap back with something else, but Mrs. James stepped in. “Honey, please just answer their questions so they can be on their way.”
Her back was turned, but I could feel the heat from the look the woman gave her daughter even from where I sat.
Rachel sniffed, and then took the seat her mother had been sitting in.
Sam resumed his own spot on the sofa beside me, clearing his throat, though the room was not without its tension.
I pulled the small pad of paper he’d given me from the pocket of my jacket, and poised the pen over it, ready to write.
“Very good,” Sam said. “Rachel, I didn’t get a chance to ask you some of the questions I asked the rest of your siblings when I was here last week.”
She shrugged, her arms folded tightly over her thin frame. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling. “And?” she asked.
“Well, how can I be certain that you didn’t see or notice anything they might not have?” Sam asked. “Your insight might be just what we need to solve this case.”
She shifted, crossing one leg over the other, her bony knees wobbling as she bounced in her seat. “I have no idea about anything my father did,” she said. “We hadn’t spoken much the last few years. He never approved of the decisions I made in my life. Neither of my parents did.”
I glanced over at Mrs. James, who was hovering just inside the sitting room doorway. She didn’t seem surprised to hear her daughter say something so crass, yet she didn’t seem unharmed by it, either.
“But you’ve been living here in Brookminster again for some time, haven’t you?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” Rachel said flatly. “Why is that important?”
“Was there anything strange going on the night that your father died?” he asked. “Perhaps you saw someone acting suspicious? Or perhaps you have heard something strange from someone since then?”
I could see he was fishing for information about the mechanic. I watched her face as well, looking for any hint of surprise, or reluctance to ans
wer.
“Are you implying that I know people who would want to kill my father?” she asked.
“No,” Sam said. “I asked your siblings these same questions. I’m sorry if they are bringing up unpleasant memories, but they could very well be important to our investigation.”
She scoffed, rolling her eyes like a spoiled child. “No, I didn’t see or hear anything suspicious,” she said. “Can I leave now?”
It struck me how rude Rachel was being. I expected to see a grieving daughter, not some annoyed child who didn’t seem at all interested in helping us find her father’s killer.
“Not yet,” Sam said. “Do you know of anyone who might have had an issue with your father?”
She snorted, which drew a nasty look from her mother. “There were plenty of people who didn’t like my father,” she said. “Oh, everyone in the village pretended to love him, but he was the one who told them from the pulpit every Sunday morning that they were supposed to live pure, good lives. Well, for some people, that sort of life is boring. And he always talked about how people are sinful, and you know what? Sometimes people just don’t want to hear about that. So, yes, there were people who didn’t like him,” she said. “Would you like a list? I’m certain we would be here all night.”
“Rachel!” her mother snapped. “That is enough. How can you possibly sit there and speak so terribly about your father?”
Rachel groaned and got to her feet.
“I’m not quite finished yet,” Sam said. He didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t glare. His tone was simply much more civil, much lower. Much colder.
The look she shot back at Sam could have melted steel, but she resumed her seat.
“Now…” Sam said, his eyes narrowed as if he was losing his patience. “You seem awfully preoccupied with something, Miss James. And it doesn’t seem to be your father’s funeral.”
Rachel folded her arms, choosing once again to look up at the ceiling instead of at us. “It’s none of your business,” she said.
“I imagine it could be…” Sam said. “Especially if it had something to do with Lucas Adams.”
An unexpected chill swept through the room.
Mrs. James near the door gaped at Sam.
Rachel’s head snapped toward Sam, her fiery stare becoming at once icy cold. “How do you know that name?” she asked.
“People in this village talk,” Sam said slowly, deliberately. “And a little bird told me that you and this Lucas had some sort of relationship?”
Rachel’s hard exterior began to crack. Face flushing red, she looked everywhere around the room but at Sam. “We – we did, but it’s been over for some time,” she said. “He – he means nothing to me.”
“Is that so?” Sam asked, his tone calm and cool. “Then why are you so suddenly flustered, Miss James?”
I had to commend Inspector Graves for his ability to get right to the heart of the issue. In one statement, one mention of a name, he had completely shifted the conversation.
She wrung her hands the same way her mother had, though with a great deal more anger.
“Fine!” she snapped eventually. “Fine…”
I gave Sam a sidelong look.
Finally…I thought. She cracked rather easily, considering how obstinate she was before.
“What can you tell me about Mr. Adams?” Sam asked.
“I really haven’t spoken to him for some time…” Rachel said. “Except…well, he sent me a letter a few days before my father died, asking if we could meet. I had been trying hard to forget about him, since my father was so insistent that we stop seeing one another, and he would have known if I had gone to see Lucas…”
“You seem very bitter about what happened,” Sam said.
“Of course I am,” she said, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “I love Lucas, and he loves me…which he so marvelously reminded me of the other day when I saw him…”
Mrs. James closed her eyes, turning her face away. Clearly, this was not news she wanted to hear, either.
“Why do you sound so upset that he told you how he felt?” I asked.
Rachel looked up at me, and I saw her eyes were rimmed with tears. “Because…” she said. “Because the fool decided it was best to go off to war.”
My eyes widened, and I looked over at Sam. Go to war? Was it to get away from murdering Mr. James?
“Why?” asked Sam, who seemed to be thinking along the same lines I was. “What does he have to gain by enlisting?”
“I have no idea,” Rachel said, her voice cracking. “It’s ridiculous, though. He could be killed. Doesn’t he know that?”
“I’m sure he must,” Sam said. “That’s not a small decision.”
Rachel clicked her tongue in disgust. “What really bothers me, though, is that he told me he is doing it to get away from me. From the memory of me. Since we can’t be together…”
Sam exhaled long and slow through his nose. “I see,” he said. “And he told you all this before your father died?”
Rachel nodded her head. “Oh, I could have screamed at my father. I have never been so angry at him in my whole life. Pushing a man to enlist just because he was afraid to be around me?”
“Joining up is an honorable decision,” Sam said.
“Not when he is using it as an excuse to flee,” Rachel said. “I told my father…I told him I blamed him for it all. For my heartbreak, for my unhappiness – ”
“Rachel, that’s enough,” Mrs. James said, but her voice shook as well.
Rachel got to her feet, hands balled into fists. “I’m sorry, Inspector, but I cannot help you find the person who killed my father, because I have no idea who it could be. If you could leave me to my grief, I would very much appreciate it.”
With that, she strode from the room, and Sam did nothing to stop her.
Mrs. James followed Rachel with her eyes for a moment. “Rachel, just wait one moment…”
The sound of two sets of footsteps climbing the stairs faded away.
Sam looked at me, his shoulders relaxing. “Well, I never would have considered it, but now I think we have two suspects…”
“Lucas and Rachel?” I asked.
“Anger like that could lead to a crime of passion,” Sam said. “Her love for Adams may have been enough to push her over the edge.”
“But to kill her father?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I’ve seen people do worse out of anger.”
I swallowed hard. “Well…now what?”
“We go listen to the other side of the story…” Sam said. “See if Rachel would really have had it in her to kill her own father. And sometimes that truth can only be uncovered by speaking to someone on the outside.”
12
This investigation was a bit like watching a fox chase a chicken through a field. Chaotic, frightening, and yet, I found I couldn’t take my eyes away.
What was so fascinating about murder to humans? It was something so horrific, and yet we couldn’t help but feel curious about it.
Maybe it wasn’t the curiosity that kept drawing me back. Instead, it was the desire to set things straight, especially when I had lived for so long without any sort of justice or answers for the problems in my own life. I wanted resolution, yet found none. I never wanted anyone to feel that way about anything.
“What do you think the chances are of Rachel really being the one to have killed her father?” I asked Sam as we drove toward Lucas Adams’ autobody shop.
“We’ll know once we speak to Lucas,” Sam said. “They both seem far more viable as suspects then you ever were.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. “I wish these situations weren’t always so murky.”
“As do I,” Sam said. “It would have saved me a great deal of stress over the years.”
The autobody shop seemed quieter than when I had visited. The number of cars in the drive had decreased; there was one lonely vehicle, which looked recently waxed and shined, beautiful in the
morning sunlight that bounced off the chrome accents and the immaculately clean front windscreen.
“He may very well recognize me,” I said. “I came here in disguise just a few days ago, after all.”
“I’m certain he won’t be able to deny the two of us our questions,” Sam said. “Especially when we make it known that he and the girl he loved may very well be suspects in this case.”
I was very glad in that moment that I was not Lucas Adams.
We made our way inside the shop, and the same upbeat jazz music greeted us from the garage. Sam strode over to the door, peering outside. “Lucas Adams?” he called, his voice carrying over the din.
The young man’s head appeared over the top of a car’s red bonnet, his face partially obscured by a pair of thick, leather-wrapped goggles.
“Yes, how can I help you?” Lucas asked, stepping out around the vehicle, pulling the goggles off his face.
“My name is Inspector Graves,” Sam said, somewhat heavily. I imagined he was as tired of playing chase as I was. “And I have some questions for you about Mr. James and his death.”
All the color drained from Lucas’s face as he stared concernedly up at Sam. “For me? Why?” he asked.
“We understand that you have had some previous connections to the family,” Sam said. “Namely with the daughter, Rachel James.”
Lucas took a step backward. “Y – Yes, I was in a relationship with her, at one point…” he said. “But Mr. James took me aside one evening, and he told me quite clearly that he did not want me to be with his daughter.”
That was a rather simple, yet very honest answer, I thought. Why couldn’t he just tell me this before?
Sam nodded, pinching his lips together. “I imagine that made you quite upset,” Sam said.
“Well, yes, of course it did,” Lucas said. “I love Rachel, very dearly. But…I have far too much respect for Mr. James not to keep my distance. I’d hoped that keeping myself out of Rachel’s life would make my choice easier, but instead, it only made me pine for her more…and so, I’ve decided to remove myself from the picture for good.” His face was set in a look of firm determination. “I’ve enlisted in the military, and I’m to leave for training soon.”
