by Mona Marple
“It was so spooky when I first saw it,” Coral said. “Who do you think it could be?”
“I have no idea,” Sandy said. “I feel so over my head with this. Someone’s trying to set me up.”
“Well, at least it’s not anyone you’re really close to.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Did you see the shoes?”
“Stilettos.”
“You never wear stilettos. Anyone who knows you well knows that.”
“Good point.”
“So, this person knew you well enough to get your coat and a wig, but not to know what you wear on your feet.”
Sandy smiled. “I guess it should be some kind of comfort that it’s nobody really close, but how could someone do this, Coral? How could someone kill a man, and pretend to be me?”
“Hold on,” Coral said. “Do you think he thought it was you he was letting in?”
The thought made Sandy’s stomach churn.
“I don’t know what to think anymore.”
She would have imagined Reginald knew he had upset her, but he had been so arrogant it was easy to imagine he would have opened that door, thought it was Sandy standing before him, and guessed she had come around to the brilliance of his plan.
“Sis, I think you should stay with me,” Coral said. “Whoever this is, they really want you out of the way. Either by framing you or… or…”
“Killing me.” Sandy finished. Her whole body shivered as she said the words, and Coral gripped her hands.
“Please, stay here.”
Sandy nodded. “Okay.”
The two embraced, and as they did, Sandy saw something move on the screen.
“Wait! What’s that? Go back.” She ordered.
Coral rewinded the footage a few minutes and they watched together as the screen was perfectly still.
“You must have imagined it,” Coral said.
“I didn’t.” Sandy insisted, and just then she saw it again. A woman appeared on screen, walking past Reginald’s cottage from the left-hand side of the screen, the direction in which the woman pretending to be Sandy had walked away. The woman dashed on, looking around as she did. She was dressed in dark trousers, stiletto shoes, and a fancy jacket. The outfit wasn’t what Sandy was used to seeing the woman in, but she still recognised her. “It’s Elaine Peters.”
“Your neighbour? The widow?” Coral asked.
Sandy nodded.
“It could be a coincidence,” Coral said, but Sandy shook her head. “I can’t believe I missed this bit.”
“Look how nervous she looks. She’s hiding something. And that outfit isn’t her at all.”
Coral rewound the footage and they both watched again as Elaine appeared on screen, twitchy and fast moving.
“She had a grudge against Reginald Halfman,” Sandy revealed.
“And one against you?”
“I didn’t think so… but I’m not sure who I can trust anymore.”
“What do we do now?”
“We have to play it cool. I’m going to find out more about Elaine Peters.” Sandy said. She stood up and let herself out of Coral’s cottage before her sister could say another word.
On her walk back to the shop, she tried not to look at Reginald’s empty cottage, but couldn’t help herself. She tried to imagine what would make a person visit someone else, their pockets armed with poison, and take their life. Then she stopped herself, thinking maybe she didn’t want to understand that kind of mindset.
When she got back to the shop, she wasn’t surprised to see the place crowded. It was story time, and she could hear the sing-song voice of Poppy Sanders, the butcher’s wife. As a primary school teacher, Poppy was ideal for leading the group, although her characters were all a little sweet-as-sugar compared to Penelope Harlow’s. Penelope was excellent at throwing herself into perfecting different voices, and the wicked witches and the snapping crocodiles were some of her most popular.
The crowd of parents she knew and didn’t know seemed to all be spaced out on caffeine highs, enjoying the child-free peace, and she smiled at the fact that her little cafe could offer such bliss for people. It was a feeling she relished.
“Everything ok?” Bernice asked, emerging from the kitchen with a full English breakfast which she presented in front of a woman Sandy didn’t recognise.
“All good now, thanks for covering.”
“Anytime. Shall I stick around?”
“No,” Sandy said. “I’ll take it from here.”
“If you’re sure,” Bernice said, taking her apron off. “I think I’m going to go shopping.”
“Enjoy,” Sandy called, watching until Bernice had left.
She turned her attention to the cafe and was pleased to see Dorie Slaughter in her usual seat, a huge slab of cappuccino cake on a plate in front of her.
“How’s the IBS, Dorie?” Sandy asked, approaching her with a fresh mug of tea to replace the woman’s empty one.
“Ooh Sandy, do you know, all those vegetables upset it something chronic. I figure if I’m going to live in pain anyway, it might as well be worth it. Nice cake, by the way.”
“I don’t blame you,” Sandy said, wondering how to veer the subject around to Elaine Peters. If anyone knew about the village goings-on, it was Dorie Slaughter.
“Is that for me? You’re a good ‘un.” Dorie said, gesturing to the mug of tea.
“I have to look after my best customer,” Sandy said. The compliment made the woman sit up with pride. “Although, I have to say there’s competition.”
“Competition?”
“Elaine Peters. Hardly see her in years and then she seems to be in here all the time.”
“Hmm.” Dorie murmured. “She’s got a new lease of life, hasn’t she.”
“It’s nice to see… after what she went through.”
“She knows loss, that woman,” Dorie said, the sentiment choking her up. Dorie was a widow herself, although she had been widowed for so long that it was easier to think of her as being single.
“So do you,” Sandy said. “It must change you, losing your husband like that.”
“It made me so angry,” Dorie admitted. “If he hadn’t been dead, I could have killed him myself for dying on me.”
Sandy placed a supportive hand on Dorie’s shoulder. “I wonder if Elaine felt like that. Angry.”
“She did,” Dorie said, then appeared to regret the words. “It’s not my place to say, of course.”
“I didn’t realise you really knew her.”
“We attend the same support group.”
“Support group? I didn’t even know we had such a thing here, forgive my ignorance.”
“We have to go to the next village. It’s a bereavement group, I call it the Black Widows’ Club. Full of women who are angry that their husbands dared to die.”
“Sounds, erm, supportive.”
“Well, Elaine stopped going a few weeks ago. Said it wasn’t the right group for her. Said she needed a different, what did she say… needed some other way of getting closure.”
“I hope she got it,” Sandy said, hardly able to contain the bitterness in her voice. The thought of Elaine using her to gain closure for herself, no matter how she had been hurt in the past, made Sandy’s stomach-churning turn into real, physical pain.
“Are you ok, dear? You look a little pale.”
“I think I”m just hungry, I skipped breakfast. Good job I work in a cafe, hey.” Sandy joked, then walked away from Dorie’s table and retreated into the kitchen. She pulled her notebook out of her handbag, turned to her page of investigation notes and wrote Elaine’s name in large capital letters, then circled it in a heavy black pen.
The thought of Elaine in a coat identical to her own, walking out of Reginald’s house before disappearing off camera where she must have discarded the yellow coat and replaced it with a fancy one, replayed in her mind throughout the day.
It was an especially busy day as the rain poured wit
hout end and people tried to hide out from it for as long as possible.
Sandy tried to focus on her customers but whenever she had a quiet moment, she found her mind returning to the CCTV footage and the feeling of dread returned to her stomach.
11
“Are you coming to mine?” Coral asked, her voice frantic. It was twenty minutes after closing time and Sandy was still in the shop, finishing washing the pots.
“Yep, if that’s ok, I’m going to finish up here and then grab some things from home. I can pick up a takeaway on my way over if you fancy?”
“I’d love a bag of chips,” Coral said. “Don’t be too long, I’m famished.”
“Leave it with me, text me your order.”
Sandy finished the last few pots, grateful that she had retreated into the kitchen to do batches throughout the day instead of letting them all pile up until closing time. Then she surveyed the remaining cakes. Almost everything had sold out. She would have to be in early again the next day to bake a fresh selection.
There were two lemon curd tarts left, and although they weren’t lonely together, Sandy decided she had earned a special treat, and slipped them both into her handbag in a paper bag.
She locked up and got in her car, then drove the short distance home.
Her cottage was in darkness, and she cursed herself for not leaving a light on when she had left. She let herself in, then locked the door behind her and headed straight up the stairs into her bedroom, where she pulled her never-used gym bag out from underneath the bed. She threw some clothes into it, several pairs of underwear, some toiletries and the novel she had been reading for weeks. When things went back to normal, she would love to spend a whole day relaxing with a book.
She was ready to leave when a light tap on the front door made her jump.
She peered out of her bedroom window but couldn’t see down to the door below. Listening to the sinking feeling in her stomach, she ignored the knock and remained out of sight by the window.
After a few moments, she watched as Elaine Peters backed away from the door, looking up and straight into Sandy’s bedroom window. Sandy, hiding behind the curtains, was confident she couldn’t be seen, but still, her heart raced in her chest.
A second later she heard the click of someone walking, and looked down to see Elaine walking back down her path, her feet in stiletto shoes.
**
“We need to call the police,” Coral said after Sandy had finished recounting what had just happened. “She was obviously going to try to kill you again.”
“We can’t tell the police,” Sandy said. “I’m safe here. I just need to be careful.”
“Just be careful? That’s your plan?”
“And I need to find proof.”
“The CCTV is proof!”
“No, the CCTV shows me entering and leaving Reginald’s house, and Elaine Peters walking past a few minutes later.”
“But it isn’t you.”
“Of course I’d say that,” Sandy said. “She’s trapped me.”
“I can’t believe you forgot the chips,” Coral said, attempting to lighten the mood. She nudged Sandy with her bony elbow, but her joke fell flat. “Hey, sis, come on, we’ll work something out.”
“Of course we will, we’re the Shaw Sisters.” Sandy said, forcing herself to act as if she meant her words. She didn’t want Coral to know how much it had unnerved her seeing Elaine standing on her doorstep in those garish stiletto shoes.
“If we can get through life with seaside names in a village nowhere near the sea, we can get through this.” Coral laughed.
“Do you remember the teasing?” Sandy asked.
“Of course I do. I remember one lad asking me if there was a third sister called Dolphin!”
“Dolphin? It was Octopus when I went to upper school.”
“To be fair, I think I know what the third daughter would have been called…”
“Mermaid!” They both said in unison, descending into wild laughter. Their parents had been hippies at heart, harboring dreams of life by the sea that they had never turned into reality.
“What do you think they’d make of all this?” Sandy asked,.
“Oh, that’s an easy one. They’d say a mind does its best thinking on a full stomach. Come on, let’s get those chips.”
**
The Village Fryer was a few doors down from Books and Bakes and was a new addition to the village’s array of shops. Judging by its popularity most nights, it was hard to imagine what people had done for dinner before it opened.
“Oh, hello,” Bernice said, standing behind the counter in a white apron and hairnet.
Sandy looked at her aghast. “Bernice? What are you doing here?”
“I think she’s frying fish, Sand. I guess I got the brains, hey.”
“Fish, sausages, you name it, I fry it,” Bernice said, but her voice was high-pitched. “What can I do you?”
“Bernice, what are you doing working here?” Sandy asked, then gasped. “This is because I cut your hours, isn’t it?”
“Look, love, it’s fine. A few hours here, a few hours there, it all adds up.”
“I thought you were glad to have a rest,” Sandy said, realising why Bernice had been so keen to step in and help at short notice. Not to mention why she had asked today if she was needed to hang around for longer. She needed the money.
“I am, pet, but the bills don’t pay themselves and our Mike isn’t earning like he used to.”
“You should have said,” Sandy said.
“I couldn’t do that. If I’d told you, you’d have given me my hours back and struggled yourself and that’s not right. We need that business of yours to keep doing well, and if that means I have some shifts here when it’s quiet over there, I can handle that.”
“You shouldn’t worry about the shop, Bernice, that’s my job.”
“Excuse me.” Bernice said, standing straighter. “When you hired me, it became my job to worry about Books and Bakes. We’re a team. Now, enough of this, what can I get for you?”
“Well I’m starving, I’ll have chips and a sausage,” Coral said, and Sandy was grateful for her larger-than-life sister who had bundles more confidence than she did.
“Make that two. I’ll have curry on mine.” Sandy said.
“Curry? You animal!” Coral exclaimed, and they all laughed.
Bernice prepared the order to go, and they walked back down the high street in a comfortable silence, each tucking into their dinner.
“It’s been ages since I had a chip supper,” Sandy admitted.
“Clearly, that’s why you didn’t know about Bernice.”
“You mean you did?”
“Yeah, she served me the same order a few days ago. I’ve got a real love for a bag of chips.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sandy asked.
Coral shrugged. “I didn’t see it as news, to be honest. A local woman works in a chip shop! Hardly a tabloid exclusive, is it?”
“I guess. I just wish I could afford to pay her for enough to save her working two jobs.”
“You will do sis, chin up. You said it was mad today.”
“It was.” Sandy agreed. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”
“Why don’t you do more events?” Coral asked. Sandy looked at her, unable to answer due to the bite of sausage she had just taken. “You say Sundays are busy because of the story time, why not do more things like that?”
“Another story time?”
“Not exactly… Penelope Harlow’s terrifying witch voice once a week is often enough. But how about a monthly book club, or even late opening nights?”
“I had thought about a late opening, but I’m reluctant to be in the shop late at night with what’s going on.”
“Well, there’s only one thing for it then.”
“What’s that?”
“We need to catch Elaine Peters, and then we can move on with our lives.”
“I’ll, erm, eat to that.�
� Sandy joked, and the two of them skewered their sausages on their plastic forks and held them up as if making a toast.
The village looked so peaceful as they strolled across the village square that it was surreal to remember what had been happening over the last few days. It was perfectly quiet, despite being only early evening still, and the lampposts illuminated the pretty cottages.
Sandy could see Coral’s cottage up ahead and forced her gaze to linger on it and only it, ignoring Reginald’s cottage that stood in darkness across the road.
Sandy stopped walking and stood still underneath a lamppost, surveying the village green.
She had been tempted to refuse the walk out to the chip shop, wanting nothing more than to hide away in her sister’s safe home, but she was glad she had ventured out. She loved Waterfell Tweed, and she wouldn’t let anyone or anything change that.
Sandy remembered the lemon curd tarts in her handbag and pulled the brown paper bag out, holding it in the air for Coral to see.
“What’s that?” She asked, walking closer to Sandy for a better look.
“Pudding.” Sandy declared. “Last one home can make the drinks.”
It took Coral a moment to react when Sandy took off running across the green, but then she was on her tail. Coral had always been the fastest, the fittest, the one who paid for a gym membership and used it. The slight head start shouldn’t have been enough to allow Sandy to win.
But she ran with a determination she had never felt in PE classes or since. Now, she found that she was at Coral’s front door while her sister was still running across the damp grass. She was out of breath, her heartbeat banging in her ears, and to her surprise, the adrenaline felt good. She crouched over and a sudden jolt of stitch hit her left side, causing her to moan in pain.
“Well played, little sis,” Coral said, as she breezed up to the door, without so much as appearing out of breath.
“You let me win, you toad,” Sandy said, in between pants.
“You can’t prove that. Come on, I’ll make the drinks.”
12
For the first night in the last week, Sandy slept like a log. She collapsed into a deep slumber as soon as her head hit the pillow just after 9pm, and didn’t wake up until she heard Coral turn on the shower in the bathroom.
