by H. Y. Hanna
Well, she wasn’t going to go digging around to find them, Poppy decided grimly. Anyway, she had more than enough for a positive ID. Looking down at the broken rose-gold case embellished with sparkling crystals, she remembered seeing an exact match on the cover of Ursula’s iPad at Duxton House. And the fact that it was smashed and broken, and hidden here in a rubbish sack to be thrown out, meant that whoever had had this phone in their possession had wanted to make sure that it was destroyed and never found.
“Is that the dead lady’s phone?” asked Timothy in a hushed voice.
Poppy nodded. Her mind was racing. Ursula’s phone had been taken from her on the day of the fête by the person who had killed her. Poppy drew a shaky breath and looked back up at the house as the implication dawned on her.
Whoever lived here was Ursula’s murderer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Poppy stared up at the large window that faced the back garden. The first level of the house was slightly raised up from the ground, perhaps because of the proximity of the river and the risk of flooding, so the window was placed above her head height and she couldn’t look into the room. However, she could see several objects lining the windowsill of what was obviously a kitchen window: a bottle of dishwashing liquid, a ceramic jar holding a couple of brushes, the gleaming silver end of a long tap, a shrivelled plant in a pot, and—she caught her breath—a couple of vintage glass bottles, in clear brown and green.
Poppy felt her heart begin to pound. She had seen glass bottles almost identical to those recently: in Norman Smalle’s shop. And… her eyes jerked back suddenly to the rubbish spilling from the tear in the black sack, especially to the empty packet of “sour cream and onion” crisps. She flashed back to her chat with Norman: he had been eating from a packet of crisps as he spoke to her; it was the same flavour…
All her uneasy thoughts from earlier came rushing back to her. What if she was wrong about Norman? He could have lied about his whereabouts at the time of the murder. He had told her that he had been up at the manor, trying to lie down and rest during the terrier racing, and had only come back to the fête after Ursula had been murdered and her body had been discovered. But what if he had actually left the manor much earlier? What if he had returned to the fête while everyone was busy watching the terriers, and had wandered into the marquee and overheard Ursula talking to a recruiter about a job in London…? In his quiet, obsessive way, Norman had fantasised about a life with Ursula—but when he’d overheard her speaking on the phone, he’d suddenly realised that not only did she not return his feelings, she was planning to move away from him!
Had he stabbed her in a possessive rage? Or even in a sudden fit of disillusionment and betrayal?
Poppy started to grope in her pockets for her own phone, then remembered that her phone was still on her bedside table. She had been so keen to get into the kitchen that morning to see Suzanne, she had completely forgotten to take it with her—and then when she’d met Timothy and heard about his discovery, she had rushed straight across the village with him, leaving her phone back at Hollyhock Cottage.
“Tim—I don’t suppose you have a phone?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Mum says I can’t have my own phone until I’m twelve.”
Poppy stared down at the cracked phone case, wondering what to do. She needed to let the police know what she’d found immediately. But if she left and took the phone case with her, she would be removing incriminating evidence and she didn’t know if that might affect things in court. She looked doubtfully at the wheelie bin again. She could put the phone case back where it had been… but what if it was no longer there when she came back with the police? What if by some terrible stroke of bad luck, Norman came home and got rid of his rubbish? She would lose all evidence tying him to Ursula’s murder.
“Listen, Tim… I need to stay here to make sure no one throws the rubbish out, but do you think you could run back into the village and ask one of the adults to call the police? You should be able to find someone in the pub—or even just on the village green. There are always a few residents out and about there.”
He shrank away from her. “I don’t know anyone—”
“It doesn’t matter. Just tell them that you’ve found important evidence about Ursula’s murder—”
“They’ll think I’m making it up. Maybe someone will recognise me and remember that they saw me with the big boys, and they’ll think I’m playing another prank!”
“They won’t. If you just explain to them—”
“They’ll never believe me!” said Timothy, shaking his head vehemently. “Maybe they’ll catch me and not let me go!”
He was getting so agitated that Poppy hastily changed tack. “Okay, okay—how about if you go back to my cottage, then? I’ve left my phone on my bedside table… and I’ve left the front door unlocked,” she added guiltily. “Can you get it and bring it back to me?”
He nodded and slipped out of the garden. Left alone, Poppy wondered about the best thing to do with the phone case. She didn’t really want to have to push it back into the rubbish sack, but on the other hand, she didn’t want to be accused of tampering with evidence or even planting false evidence, which might happen if she placed it somewhere else. In any case, she would have to wrap it in something… She considered the soiled napkins protruding from the rubbish sack with distaste. Perhaps if she—
Then she froze. Were there voices coming from inside the house? Poppy hunched instinctively and glanced up again at the window. She had been so sure that the house was empty; it had seemed so quiet…
Yes, there were definitely voices coming from the other end of the house… Perhaps Norman had just arrived home? Then Poppy realised that the sound wasn’t muffled, as it would’ve been coming through the windowpane above her head, but much clearer, as if from an opening next to her. She jerked around and saw that the back door was slightly ajar. She remembered Mrs Peabody saying that most Bunnington residents still didn’t lock their back doors. And through the gap, she could distinctly hear Norman’s voice. She couldn’t make out what he was saying but his tone was urgent. Then she heard him say “Ursula” and she stiffened. The next moment, a woman’s voice rang out shrilly:
“It was you! You’re the one who killed her—”
Sonia!
Poppy gasped. Had Sonia somehow figured out who had killed her only friend and had come to confront him? Then she heard Sonia scream and, without thinking, Poppy yanked the back door open and rushed in. She stumbled through the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the small sitting room at the front of the house, to find Norman and Sonia in the middle of the room. They were struggling against each other and hadn’t even noticed her come in. Poppy shouted at Norman, then grabbed the first thing that came into her hand—a ceramic ladybird on a side table—and threw it at the antique dealer’s head. She missed, of course. It glanced off his shoulders and fell to the floor. The impact surprised him enough, though, and he let go of Sonia.
“Poppy!” Norman stared at her. “What are you doing here?”
“Leave Sonia alone! It won’t help even if you silence her—I know the truth as well,” said Poppy.
Norman stared at her. “What are you talking about? Sonia’s the one who jumped on—”
“I’m talking about Ursula. You murdered her, didn’t you?”
“What? No! How could you think that? I told you, I loved her—”
“I’m not going to fall for your sob story again! My God, you really had me fooled that day—I really thought you were heartbroken about Ursula’s death! I should have listened when everyone said you were probably faking it—”
“I wasn’t faking anything!” cried Norman, his face going very red. He started towards her. “Listen—”
“Keep away from me!” said Poppy, edging back.
She spied a phone in the far corner of the room and wondered if she could reach it and dial 999 before Norman stopped her. She glanced at Sonia—if only the other wom
an could help distract him for a moment!—but the orange-haired woman seemed to have gone into a trance, wringing her hands and staring blankly at Norman.
Poppy glanced around the room, searching for something that could be used as a weapon. There was a narrow sideboard behind her, which held various books and ornaments, and a messy tray of opened mail. She looked eagerly at the last, hoping that there might be a traditional knife-shaped letter opener, but there was nothing. She scanned the room again, focusing on the conventional fireplace-plus-mantelpiece-and-mirror arrangement on the other side—but the hearth looked decorative rather than functional, and she couldn’t see a poker or any other fire tool. In desperation, she snatched up one of the books from the sideboard and held it in front of her, like a shield.
“Don’t… don’t come any closer,” she said to Norman.
He shook his head. “You’re mad!”
“You’re the one who’s mad,” Poppy retorted. “Or obsessed, rather. You were driving Ursula crazy with your obsessive adoration, weren’t you? And when she decided that she had to get away from your creepy attentions, you lost it and killed her.”
“No, no! I never hurt Ursula—”
“Don’t lie! I told you, I know the truth,” Poppy cut him off. She groped for the phone case, which she had shoved unthinking into her pocket when she ran into the house, and held it up, brandishing it in his face. “I found this—it’s the case from Ursula’s phone. What do you say now?”
Sonia gave a little gasp and gripped the mantelpiece for support. Norman stared at the phone case, his face pale.
“But… but… I don’t understand,” he stammered. “How did you—”
“It was in the rubbish outside. You tried to destroy it and get rid of it, didn’t you? And I suppose if it had gone with the general rubbish collection, it would never have been found again, which is exactly what you wanted—”
“No, wait—there’s been some kind of terrible misunderstanding,” Norman cried. “I only came here because I got a note from—”
“What d’you mean you ‘only came here’?” snapped Poppy. “You live here! This is your house!”
“No, it’s not.” Norman pointed at Sonia. “It’s her house.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Poppy started to protest, then her gaze flicked around the room once more, and this time she saw—she saw the horseshoe hanging over the doorway, the collection of “evil eye” amulets on the sideboard, the cushion covers with a pattern of four-leaf clovers, and the waving “lucky cat” statue on the mantelpiece. Her eyes dropped to the book in her hands and she saw the title: Curses & Omens—How to Remove and Counteract Them.
A horrible realisation began to dawn on her. She jerked her gaze back up to the orange-haired woman standing by the fireplace. Sonia was still staring at Noman in that blank, unnerving way, but now he was staring back at her in horror as the truth dawned on him as well.
“Oh my God, it was you…” he said in a hoarse voice. “You’re the one who killed her!”
“No, no, no—it was you! If you hadn’t brought the knife to the fête… it was bad luck—”
“For heaven’s sake, it wasn’t bad luck that killed Ursula—it was you grabbing that knife and stabbing her!” shouted Norman.
“I… I couldn’t help it…” cried Sonia. Her face went blotchy as she began to cry. “I was so angry… I… I couldn’t think… and then I saw the knife…” She gulped and sobbed. “Ursula was supposed to be my friend! She never laughed at me like the others… she was always kind… I thought she would help me… but it was all a lie!”
“What do you mean?” said Norman. “Ursula was your friend! She was always nice to you and—”
“I HEARD HER!” Sonia shrieked. “I heard her talking on the phone. That day at the fête, when Mrs Peabody sent me back to find her, I walked into the marquee and I heard Ursula talking to someone… about me! It was the recruitment agency from London—the one who was going to give me the job I needed—but Ursula was telling them awful things about me being hysterical and unreliable and believing in silly superstitions… how could she? How could she?” Sonia’s voice rose shrilly.
“What did you expect her to do?” demanded Norman angrily. “She had to be honest if they were asking her for a reference. She’d worked with you and she knew what you were really like—any other member of the SOAR committee would have said the same thing.”
“But Ursula was supposed to be my friend!” wailed Sonia. “She was supposed to help me—how could she betray me like that?” She clutched her head. “It was all a lie… all a lie! She was never my friend at all… I had no friends… I had nobody! Nobody was going to help me… nobody was going to give me a job… nobody cared…”
The woman looked so devastated, so despairing, that in spite of the situation, Poppy felt a flash of pity for her. She put out a hand towards her and said gently, “That’s not true, Sonia. Ursula did care—”
“No, she didn’t! She just pretended to, which is even worse!” snarled Ursula, her face suddenly changing. “She made me think she was kind, and then she let me down just when I needed her the most! I wanted to hit her… to hurt her, like she hurt me… and then I saw it… The knife. It was just lying there on the trestle table, next to Ursula… She had her back to me… I grabbed the knife… I was so angry…” Her hands clenched spasmodically, as if gripping the pruning knife once more. “And then… and then afterwards… I was scared—”
“So you hid the knife in Betsy’s room,” guessed Poppy. “You tried to frame her for the murder, didn’t you?”
Sonia stammered, “I… I didn’t know what to do… I thought if I just hid the knife, then nobody would know… and the phone… Ursula’s phone… I had to get rid of the phone…”
And then she ran back to the crowd and screamed bloody murder, thought Poppy. And of course, no one suspected her because who would think that the poor, distraught woman who had discovered the body would be the one who actually committed the murder?
But now that she knew the truth, Poppy realised that the signs were there all along, like the way Sonia had been so jumpy and nervous in the village post office when the ladies had asked her about discovering the body, the way she had said: “there was blood everywhere… I never realised there would be so much blood…” Poppy remembered thinking at the time that it was an odd choice of words, but she had brushed it aside because, like everyone else, she had never thought of Sonia as a suspect.
“That was you that I heard!” Norman burst out suddenly. “I thought it was Kirby sneaking to the maid’s room, but it was you going to plant the murder weapon… You killed Ursula, you heartless witch! You ruined my life—”
“No, it was your fault,” insisted Sonia, shaking her head. “It was you who brought that knife to the fête. If it hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have killed Ursula.”
“What? What kind of crazy logic is that?” demanded Norman. “You were the one who killed Ursula!”
“No, you were!”
Poppy’s head swivelled back and forth between them. This was beginning to feel like a farce. She couldn’t believe that she had just exposed Sonia as a homicidal maniac and the two of them were arguing like squabbling siblings. Poppy opened her mouth to say something, but she was interrupted by Norman jabbing a finger at Sonia and shouting:
“Don’t blame it on me, you crazy cow! I’m going to the police now to tell them exactly what you’ve done—”
He turned towards the door, but before he could take a step, Sonia flung herself at him with a screech. Norman staggered back and tried to push her off, but Sonia was like a wild animal, biting, scratching, clawing, and kicking. The antique dealer crumpled under her attack, hunching over, with his arms over his face, making squealing noises. Poppy groaned. She knew that Norman was a weedy chap, but this seemed beyond pathetic. She decided she’d better help him before Sonia beat him senseless. She started towards them, then hesitated: she didn’t fancy getting too close to the shriekin
g woman herself. Maybe if she could throw something at Sonia’s head and knock her out…
She cast around the room once more, but while the house seemed to be stuffed to the brim with all sorts of talismans and lucky charms, it didn’t offer much in the way of weaponry. Somehow, she didn’t think clobbering Sonia with a giant rabbit’s foot or an inflatable lucky pig was going to help much. Then her eyes lit up as she spied something on the side table: a box containing a pair of Chinese meditation balls! She pounced on them and picked up the small metal balls, feeling their reassuring weight in her palm. She raised one and paused, struggling to aim as Sonia and Norman lurched past her—then she threw the ball as hard as she could.
It sailed through the air… past Sonia’s head… and hit Norman square on the forehead. The antique dealer slumped over.
GAH! Poppy stared in horror at the man out cold on the floor. How could she have hit Norman again? She raised her eyes to the panting woman standing opposite her. Great. Now that she had knocked out her one ally, she was completely alone with the homicidal maniac.
Poppy cleared her throat. “Um… Sonia… maybe we should just talk things over—”
Sonia made an inarticulate sound in her throat and came towards her, her hands outstretched like claws. Poppy gasped and jerked backwards, darting around the sofa and putting it between herself and the madwoman. She remembered that she still had one meditation ball left. She glanced at the metal sphere, decorated with a black-and-white yin yang lucky charm, took a deep breath and raised it, then hurled it straight at Sonia’s head just as the woman lunged towards her.
It missed.
Aaarrgghh! Why can’t I ever hit anything? Poppy wanted to kick herself. Then she flinched as there came a resounding CRASH, followed by the sound of shattering glass. The mirror above the mantelpiece cracked suddenly into several pieces and disintegrated, falling to the floor in a shower of broken glass. Poppy realised that the meditation ball, which had missed Sonia, must have smacked into the mirror behind her instead.
