by Linda Welch
Bad luck? I didn’t think so. The more I mulled it over, the more I thought Darnel Fowler was involved in the Nortons’ disappearance, perhaps their murder.
Carrie was quiet and I bet I knew why.
I concentrated on Johnny. “Why didn’t you tell us Fowler is a police constable?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“It changes things. We’re strangers, and not everyone believes I talk to the deceased, which would include your policemen. We’ll do our best, but I can’t guarantee we’ll nail Fowler for your death.”
“Ah. See what you mean.” He rolled one shoulder. “Don’t you worry, ‘e’ll get what’s coming to ‘im.” And he looked to his left, to where the little Elemental blinked huge eyes as it squatted on the bank.
“Royal.”
“I feel it.”
The Elemental stood on spindly legs, stepped back in the mist and was gone.
“Did you see it?” I asked Carrie.
“See what?”
I guess not.
I lifted a hand to Johnny. “Thanks, Johnny. We’ll be back later.”
“Don’t put yourself out.”
We started off. I watched Carrie easily breeze along at my side. “You were quiet back there. Couldn’t be because you already knew Johnny was the Norton’s gardener?”
She sniffed and brought her chin up. “Perhaps I did. Perhaps I didn’t.”
“Good thing we’re not paying you for information.”
Her voice spiked with indignation. “You said listen to what people say! I didn’t know you didn’t know Johnny worked for Sylvia.”
Right. I did not tell her much. While Royal and I ran all over the place in search of clues, Carrie’s fuzzy head could hold a wealth of useful information. I just had to ask the right questions. But later. Right now I really wanted to get out of this fog.
The fog became denser. Tiny beads glittered on Royal’s hair as we passed beneath a streetlamp. Glad of his hand holding mine, I tugged him to my side. He let go of my hand and cradled my shoulders. Carrie came a few paces behind us.
The fog damped down sound, making the village eerily silent but for our footfalls. Knowing Royal, wary of danger, strained his senses to the max, I let my thoughts range over what we knew.
Scott Norton gets sick and knows it’s fatal. He wants reconciliation with his brother, tries to find him and discovers his brother died, but had a son. Scott is in a decline by then, so asks Patty to find Paul. She hires us on the recommendation of Gertrude Hackenbacher. We arrive in Little Barrow - their last known place of residence - and when I ask after the Nortons our room is searched. Connection? Maybe. Or the inn could have a dishonest employee who rifles guests’ rooms for small valuables, but didn’t see anything in ours worth taking, and dared not steal Royal’s laptop because the theft would be too obvious.
The note about Peter Cooper, just his name. Peter Cooper the investigator. What could he have to do with anything? Is he looking for the Nortons too? Where is he? Why, and who, trashed his office?
Then there’s Johnny. Johnny sees men clearing out the Norton’s house and suspects they are up to no good. Local Darnel Fowler, a police officer no less, runs the kid down.
Clarke tries to kill us and ends up murdered, doubtless by whoever hired him. Was it Fowler? Why did Clarke try to run us down? What did we do apart from ask Greg about the Nortons?
We check out Cooper’s office and Pegasus Van Lines, and stop by Mrs. Marsh’s house, but nobody sees us. Royal would know if… .
My hand bunched the back of Royal’s jacket. “Mrs. Marsh. She saw us.”
Royal didn’t break stride. “True. But why suspect us, of anything? Because we are staying in Little Barrow?”
I dug in my feet, bringing us to a stop. “A woman on the edge would be suspicious of almost everything. She could have made a phone call to check up on us.”
“Hm. If she is in that bad a shape, she must have reason.”
“Like knowing Johnny’s death wasn’t an accident? His kid brother said as much.”
“Surely a mother would do everything in her power to bring her son’s killer to justice,” Carrie said.
“Unless she has a damn good reason not to.”
“Which would be?”
“No idea.”
We walked on. Trying to hash out the twists in this case made my head ache.
We should tell the Norton’s attorneys what happened to Paul and Sylvia, go home, collect our paycheck and get on with our lives. We couldn’t do anything to help Johnny. We would have to take on the British police force and convince them one of their cops was a murderer. Right. As if that would fly. They would not look at the evidence, but they would look at us.
We sat in our room doing nothing. By we, I mean Royal and I. Thank the powers-that-be Carrie didn’t follow us in.
Fred Sturgis told us to go home on the next available flight, the day after tomorrow, but I didn’t want to leave yet. Sure, I looked forward to getting home, but I also wanted justice for Johnny. I wanted to know why Clarke tried to kill us. And how was Peter Cooper involved?
“Enough of this,” Royal suddenly announced in the heavy silence, making me twitch. “We should get out of here and go see the sights.”
I gave him a twisted smile and nodded at the fog which pressed at the windows, condensed and drizzled down in thin rivulets. “You are kidding, right?”
He got to his feet and presented his hand. “It’s not that bad.”
I let him pull me to my feet. “Where are we going?”
“Shall we ask Sally to recommend somewhere?”
I grabbed my jacket as protection from the moisture-laden air. We went downstairs to the bar hand in hand.
Sally stood behind the desk. “Bit of a dismal day.”
“It is, Sally.” Royal bestowed his smile. “But we are tired of being cooped up. We thought we would take in a local attraction, something not too far away. Any suggestions?”
“As a matter of fact I do. This is a fine day for Avebury.”
Her definition of a fine day differed from mine.
“It is world famous and not far from Little Barrow. Not much of the circles remain, but hundreds of stones are still standing. And there is the village and manor house. Lovely place.”
By “stones” she meant the Neolithic and Bronze Age monuments all over Great Britain, Stonehenge being the most famous.
She turned her gaze to me. “Avebury is thought to be one of the most spiritual sites in England, and on a day like this … you really should go.”
Like I wanted to go anyplace spiritual, but Royal nodded his agreement. “Interesting.”
Traipsing around outside in the fog didn’t sound like a fun excursion to me. There had to be other places we could visit on a day like this, places inside, warm and dry. I picked up one of the small brochures which fanned over the desk. “Look. Salisbury Cathedral!”
Her gaze narrowed on me. She took the brochure from my hand between thumb and forefinger. “This is the perfect day for Avebury. And while you are there you must walk through the woods. They are dense and beautiful at this time of year.”
She plucked a different brochure from the desk and passed it to Royal. “There you are. You will not get lost.”
He took the brochure. “Thank you, Sally.”
A small exasperated huh escaped me. Personally, I thought Royal had to be just a little bit crazy, wanting to drive the English countryside in a pea-souper.
We went through the backdoor. The fog looked alive as it rolled across the meadow, advancing on the courtyard. I searched the shadows for a humped shape, but no little creature squatted there.
In the car park, the fog had weight to it, clinging like thick, dank spider webs. The cars were shadowy shapes. Royal used the automatic opener; we followed the beep and flashing headlights to our rental.
We drove away from The Hart and Garter through muffled streets, the cottages by the road looming shapes which came in focus when
we passed a streetlamp. Royal turned on the wipers as moisture condensed on the windshield. As we left Little Barrow, the little oases of light from windows and lamps dropped behind us and we entered a gray, haunted world. I grew edgy, hoping a bus would not come from the other direction, wondering if Royal would see a roadside bank, hedge or fence before we hit it.
The fog lifted past Little Barrow; perhaps the rain chased it away. Raindrops spattered the windshield. Lulled by the drone of the engine and rhythmic whump-whump of the wipers, I relaxed to the extent I almost dozed off.
“Agh!” I yelled, grabbing the seat as the car swerved, startling me from my comfortable stupor. Then we bumped and juddered over an uneven surface for what seemed far too long. I tried to stutter a question and noticed the edge of Royal’s perfectly serene expression. We slid to a stop.
“What… ? What are you doing?” I managed to gasp out, wondering if my fingers were permanently fixed to the seat cushion.
The dashboard clock said four-fifteen. I peered through the wet windshield. A tree with a small car parked beneath. Another car. Another.
Royal turned off the engine. “This is the parking area.”
“It’s a field.”
A brief nod. “A parking field, then.”
“No such thing.” I opened my door so I could see better.
We were indeed parked on the edge of a field. Trees and clumps of long grass marched a line ahead of us, a tall unruly hedge just beyond. A dozen cars difficult to see in the pelting rain shared the area with us. “This is it?”
“Ready?”
“Why does Sally think today’s a good day to see this?”
“I think she meant the fog gives it an eerie atmosphere as it would if you came at dusk.”
I already felt a creepy atmosphere. No dead people to annoy me, but a weird uneasiness. But I didn’t tell Royal, he likes nothing better than to tease me. “No fog, but plenty of rain. Let’s go back.”
“Come on, Tiff. Or do you want to sit in our room the rest of the afternoon?”
I slammed back in my seat. “Fine.”
He turned on the dome light so we could read the brochure. ‘These Downes looke as if they were Sown with great Stones, very thicke; and in a dusky evening they looke like a flock of Sheep: from whence it takes its name. One might fancy it to have been the Scene where the Giants fought with stones against the Gods… . I was wonderfully surprised at the sight of these vast stones, of which I’d never heard before; as also at the mighty Banke and Graffe [ditch] about it. I observed in the Inclosures some segments of rude circles, made with these stones, whence I concluded, they had been in old time complete.’ Some guy named John Aubrey wrote that in 1648.
I remembered the look in Sally’s eyes, how she focused on me. “She was awful insistent we came here.”
“Sally? I’m sure she is familiar with Avebury and often recommends it to guests.”
Fine.
We scooted from the car, slammed the doors and dashed for the tree-line. Royal caught my hand and pulled me to a break between trees.
We were on a narrow path, the right side flanked by Horse Chestnut trees. On our left, an ancient brick wall with moss growing in the crevices surrounded a large brick house with symmetrically placed flower beds and expanses of lush lawn. “Is that the manor house?”
“I do not think so. The manor house is older.”
I felt soggy, and moisture gleamed on Royal’s hair and jacket.
“Help me help me help me!”
I was a hair away from freaking out. But Royal laughed at me the last time a peacock’s cry made me jump out of my skin. “They have peacocks here,” I said calmly. “This place is full of atmosphere.”
We came to an open tract of land. Open, apart from the massive stones dotted around on green turf, the ground gently rising and falling. The path led between high wooden fences with the stones either side. Low buildings clustered ahead, but I couldn’t see them clearly with the rain coming down.
“Anywhere here we can get coffee?”
“Up ahead, in the village.” He stepped to one side, to a gate in the fence, lifted the latch and pushed it open.
I put one hand on the gate. “Is it okay to go in there?”
“According to the brochure, the fence is to keep animals out, not people.” He yanked on my hand and towed me through the opening.
The stones were impressive in their setting of smooth green dips and mounds. We walked over sodden grass to the nearest one, a behemoth which rose ten feet above our heads. Royal splayed his hand on the pitted surface. “It’s thought construction began around five thousand years ago.” He removed his hand to indicate the village. “Some of those homes are built of materials quarried in 3,000 BC.”
I should have been awed, but I was wet and cold and miserable. I didn’t want to be here. Even the temptation of a cup of hot coffee couldn’t dispel my bad mood. I made a face and snuffled. “Well that was fun. Real educational too. I’m drowning. Can we go now?”
“Who is the sissy girlie panties now?” he said, using one of my favorite you’re a wuss male-put-downs.
“I am not a sissy.” I wanted to laugh. The phrase sounded weird coming from Royal’s mouth. I wrapped my arms around his waist so I could snuggle against his damp chest. He held me away, opened his coat, then pulled me in. The warmth of his body came through his shirt. Oh, bliss.
“Okay, I admit it, I’m a girl.”
I felt his sigh in his chest. “I cannot help but notice.”
“And I do wear girlie panties.”
Something deeper than a sigh, more a rumble. “Very girlie. I have an admission too. I’m partial to your girlie panties.”
The absurdity of standing in the English countryside surrounded by ancient monoliths, commenting on my panties, was more than I could take. Pressing my mouth to his sodden jacket, I burst out in chuckles.
When I recovered, he brushed water off my cheek, then my chin, then flicked a drop off the tip of my nose. “Do you want to see the village?”
“I’m soaked right through. I’m cold!”
“I was going to suggest we wait in the local pub, but this rain does not look like it will pass anytime soon. We may as well relax in The Hart and Garter.”
“I thought you were all fired up to come here.”
“In the fog, yes. Rain, no.” He hunched his shoulders. “I thought it would be creepy.”
“Creepy! You like creepy?”
“Who does not?”
I rolled my eyes. “The inn has satellite TV. I bet we can find something creepy on there for you. The sooner we get back, the better. We don’t all have bodies like radiators. I need to get into dry clothes and warm up.”
He twitched one eyebrow.
I knew what he was thinking. I smiled slyly. “Wanna help me?”
We dashed back to the car. As we buckled in, I looked at the massed trees and underbrush around the field. “Sally suggested we go through the wood.”
“Do you want to?”
The rain had eased a little, but clouds were still dark and heavy and I thought of all those sodden leaves dripping water down the back of my neck. “Nah. Let’s go.”
We traipsed in The Hart and Garter, wet all the way through our clothes to the skin. The seat cushions in the car would take a long time to dry.
“Oh dear,” Sally said.
I gave her a sick smile. “No fog. No atmosphere. An awful lot of rain though.”
She glanced at the nearest window and the dense gray fog muffling the inn. “Did you look around the place?”
“Long enough to get soaking wet. But no, we didn’t stay there more than five minutes.”
“That is a shame. You will have to go back another day.”
We slopped upstairs to our room. Sally had been in there. My clean clothes hung in the wardrobe and she had left my neatly folded undies on the bed. I took them to the dresser and put them away, except one set. They were soft and warm, smelling faintly of lavender.
I couldn’t wait to get into dry clothing.
I claimed the shower first. I stood under a cascade almost hot enough to slough skin. It felt wonderful. I could have stayed in there for hours, but poor wet Royal waited his turn. I stepped from the shower and over my pile of soaked clothes, wrapped myself in a towel and went in the bedroom. Royal walked past me with his wet clothes in one hand. All his wet clothes. I swear he goes around naked just to see me walk into furniture.
I would have waited in my towel for him, but my hair dripped down my back, so I put on my old T-shirt. I stood near the bed, hairbrush in hand when he came from the bathroom with a towel around his waist.
He stood behind me and took the brush. “Let me.”
I didn’t object. He brushed my hair, working up to my scalp, careful not to tug when he found a tangle. That done, he separated the length into four sections. He worked the bristles in just above where his warm hand closed on one thick tress. Then he slowly, slowly, slid his hand down the length, following with the brush. My hair dried a little more with each sweep of his hand.
A sensuous languor rolled over me from the top of my head all the way down to my toes. I stood there, mesmerized, as his hands worked magic.
The brush hit the floor with a thunk. He parted the hair on my nape. His lips fairly sizzled on my skin. I sighed and leaned back on him. His fingers splayed on my abdomen, slid up to briefly cup the underside of my breasts, caressing my nipples with his thumbs, then down to my thighs, back up beneath my T-shirt.
Caught up in the moment, I barely heard his voice, gone low and husky. “I should verify your panties really are girlie.”
I guided his hands. “The girliest I own.”
Chapter Thirteen
I took another bite of cheese on thick, chewy bread and popped a pickled onion in my mouth. “Damn this is good!”
Royal’s eyes crinkled. “Everything tastes good when you work up an appetite.”
We sat at a trestle table in the bar. I swallowed, beamed at him, popped in another crisp, crunchy onion and chewed. He took a swig of dark beer and wiped the foam from his mouth with a paper napkin.
Carrie stood at the bar ogling a young blond man in khaki shorts, sandals and a colorful poncho despite the dismal weather. He did not wear a shirt beneath the poncho. No doubt that’s why Carrie stood so close.
